PT 2640 
Z3 H47 
1895 
Copy 1 



PRESENTED BY 



M A G D A 



A Play in Four Acts 

By 

HERMANN SUDERMANN 

Translated from the German by 

CHARLES EDWARD AMORY WINSLOW 



Copyright, 1895, by 
Lamson, Wolffe and Company. 

Assignment of above Copyright to 

Emanuel Lederer, 
13 West 42d Street, New York City, 

recorded in Assignment Book 
V. 21 Page 143, June 8, 1899, Washington, D. C. 



CAUTION. — Professionals and amateurs are 
hereby notified that this play is fully copyrighted 
under the existing laws of the United States 
Government, and nobody is allowed to do this 
play without first having obtained permission of 
Samuel French, 24 West 22d Street, New York 
City, U. S. A. 



Copyright, 1895, 
By Lamson, Wolffe, and Company. 



Mencken 
01918 



Note. 



IT ERR HERMANN SUDERMANN has 
achieved surprising success in passing 
from novel-writing to dramatic authorship. He 
has a style of the utmost distinction, and is 
well skilled in technique. His masterpiece, 
" Heimat," is absolutely original. No play has 
ever produced a more impressive effect upon 
German audiences. When it ceases to be per- 
formed, it will still hold a permanent and im- 
portant place in the libraries of dramatic litera- 
ture. Though a psychological study, there is 
no concentration of attention upon morbid con- 
ditions. All these have passed before the play 
begins. There is no passion for mere passion's 
sake. Its development proceeds from the 
energies of circumstances and character. 

Herr Sudermann, unlike some of the new 
dramatists, is not lacking in humor ; and the 
snobbishness, stuffy etiquette, and scandal-mon- 
gering of a provincial town are well illustrated 
by the minor characters. Into this atmos- 
phere comes the whirlwind from the outer world 
with fatal effect. It is scarcely possible to 



iv 



Note. 



conceive more varied and intense emotions 
naturally and even inevitably evolved from the 
action of a single day. The value of the drama 
lies in the sharp contrasts between the New and 
the Old, alternately commanding, in their strife, 
the adhesion of the spectator or reader. The 
preparation for the return of " The Prodigal 
Daughter " occupies an entire act, and invests 
her entrance with an interest which increases 
until the tremendous climax. Yet the proud 
martinet father commands our respect and 
sympathy; and the Pastor, in his enlightened 
self- conquest, is the antithesis alike of the nar- 
rowness and lawlessness of parent and child, 
and remains the hero of the swift tragedy. 

It is not uncommon that the scrupulousness 
attending circumstances where partiality would 
be a natural impulse, makes criticism even 
unusually exacting. It is believed that in this 
spirit the present translation may be somewhat 
confidently characterized as being both spirited 
and faithful. 

E. W. 

The Oxford. 
January \ 1896. 



Persons. 



Schwartze, Lieutenant-Colonel on half -pay. 

Magda, ) ^ s children by his first wife, 

Marie, ) J 

Augusta, born von Wendlowski, his second wife. 

Franziska von Wendlowski, her sister. 

Max von Wendlowski, Lieutenant, their nephew. 

Heffterdingt, Pastor of St. Mary's. 

Dr. von Keller, Councillor. 

Beckmann, Professor Emeritus. 

Von Klebs, Major-General on half pay. 

Mrs. von Klebs. 

Mrs. Justice Ellrich. 

Mrs. Schumann. 

Theresa, maidservant of the Schwartze family. 

Place. The principal city of a province. 
Time. The present. 



MAGDA. 



ACT I. 

Scene. Living-room in house of Lieutenant- 
Colonel Schwartze, furnished in simple and 
old-fashioned style. Left, at back, a glass 
door with white curtains through which the 
dining-room is seen. There is also a hall door, 
through which a stai?xase to the upper story is 
visible. Right, a corner window, with white 
curtains, surrounded by ivy. Left, a door to 
the Lieutenant- Colonel's room. Steel en- 
gravings of a religious and patriotic character, 
in tarnished gold frames , photographs of mili- 
tary groups, and cases of butterflies on the walls. 
Right, over the sofa, among other pictures, is 
the portrait of the first Mrs. Schwartze, young 
' and charming, in the costume of the sixties. 
Behind the sofa, an old-fashioned desk. Be- 
fore the window, a small table with work- 
box and hand sewing-machine. At the back, 
between the doors, an old-fashioned tall clock. 
In the left-hand corner, a stand with dried 
grasses ; in front, a table with a small aqua- 



8 



Magda. 



rium. Left, in front, a corner sofa with a 
small pipe-cupboard behind it. A stove with 
a stuffed bird on it; and behind, a bookcase 
with a bust of the old Emperor William. 

[Marie and Theresa discovered. Theresa at 
the door. Marie is occupied with the sewing- 
machine^ 

THERESA. 

Miss Marie ! 

MARIE. 

Well! 

THERESA. 

Is your father still lying down? 

MARIE. 

What ? s the matter? Has any one called? 

THERESA. 

No, but — There ! Look at that ! [Pro- 

ducing a magnificent mass of flowers .] 

MARIE. 

Good Heavens ! Take it to my room quickly, 
or papa — But, Theresa, when the first came 
yesterday, weren't you told not to let any more 
be left? 

THERESA. 



I 'd have sent the florist's boy away if I could, 
but I was up on the ladder fixing the flag, and 



Magda. 



9 



he laid it down and was gone before I could 
stop him. My, my, though, they 're beautiful ! 
and if I might make a guess, the Lieutenant — 

MARIE. 

You may not make a guess. 

THERESA. 

All right, all right. Oh, I know what I 
wanted to ask. Does the flag hang well? 
[Marie looks out, and nods assent"] 

THERESA. 

The whole town is full of flags and flowers, 
and the most expensive tapestries are hung out 
of the windows. One would think it was the 
King's birthday. And all this fuss is about a 
stupid Music Festival ! What is this Music 
Festival, Miss Marie? Is it different from a 
choral festival? 

MARIE. 

Yes, indeed. 

THERESA. 

Is it better? 

MARIE. 

Oh, much better ! 

THERESA. 

Oh, well, if it 's better — \A knock.] 

MARIE. 

Come in ! 



io Magda. 

Enter Max. 

THERESA. 

Well, now I suppose I can leave the flowers. 

[Exit Theresa, laughing. 

marie. 

You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Max. 

MAX. 

What on earth do you mean? 

MARIE. 

Aren't these flowers yours? 

MAX. 

Good Heavens ! I can afford a few pennies for 
a bunch of violets once in a while, but this — 
Oh, no ! 

MARIE. 

Nor yesterday's? 

MAX. 

No, nor yesterday's. [Marie rings.*] 
Enter Theresa, 
marie. 

Please throw these flowers away. 

THERESA. 

What ! Throw those beautiful flowers away? 



Magda. 1 1 



MARIE. 

You are right. The pastor would say, " If 
God's gifts do not please us, we must at least 
take care that they give pleasure to others.' ' 
Would n't he? 

MAX. 

Probably he would. 

MARIE. 

Then you had better take them back to the 
florist's. Did they come from Zimmerman's? 
[Theresa nods.~\ Well, we '11 sell them if we 
can, and give the money to Pastor HerTterdingt 
for his hospital. 

THERESA. 

Shall I go now? 

MARIE. 

After you have made the coffee. I '11 serve 
it myself. [Exit Theresa.] These flowers are 
an insult ! I need not tell you, Max, that I 
have given no one the shadow of an excuse for 
such a thing. 

MAX. 

I 'm very sure of that. 

MARIE. 

And papa was so angry. He simply stormed. 
And I was quiet because I suspected it was 
you. If he got hold of the poor fellow, it would 
go hard with him. 



12 Magda. 

MAX. 

Do you think it would be any better if I got 
hold of him ? 

MARIE. 

What rights have you in the case ? 

MAX. 

Marie ! [Takes her hand.~\ 

MARIE. 

[Gently disengaging herself. ~] Oh, Max, 
please — not that. You know every corner of 
my heart. But we must think of the proprie- 
ties. 

MAX. 

Proprieties ! Oh, pshaw ! 

MARIE. 

Well, you know what a world we live in. 
Here, every one is afraid of every one else be- 
cause each depends upon the good opinion of 
the other. If a few anonymous flowers can 
make me talked of, how much more — 

MAX. 

Oh, yes, I know. 

MARIE. 

[Laying her hand on his shoulder *.] Max, 
you '11 speak again to Aunt Frankie, won't you, 
about the guaranty 1 of your income ? 

1 Without which officers in the German army may 
not marry. 



Magda. 



13 



MAX. 

I have already. 

MARIE. 

Well? 

MAX. 

[Shrugging his shoulders.] As long as she 
lives, not a penny. 

MARIE. 

Then there 's only one person who can help 
us. 

MAX. 

Your father? 

MARIE. 

No. For Heaven's sake, don't let him hear 
of it. He might forbid you the house. 

MAX. 

What has he against me ? 

MARIE. 

You know how he has been since our mis- 
fortune. He feels that there is a blot to be 
wiped out ; and especially now, when the whole 
town echoes with music, — when everything 
recalls Magda. 

MAX. 

What if she should come back, some day ? 

MARIE. 

After twelve years? She will never come. 

[ Weeps.'] 



14 Magda. 

MAX. 

Marie ! 

MARIE. 

You 're right, you 're right. I will put it 
away from me. 

MAX. 

But who is the one person who can help us ? 

MARIE. 

Why, the pastor ! 

MAX. 

Yes, yes, he might. 

MARIE. 

He can do everything. He stirs your very 
heart — as if — And then he seems like a 
kind of relation. He should have been my 
brother-in-law. 

MAX. 

Yes, but she would n't have it so. 

MARIE. 

Don't speak angrily, Max. She must have 
made atonement. [_A ring.'] Oh, perhaps this 
is he. 

MAX. 

No, no, I forgot to tell you. Councillor von 
Keller asked me to bring him here to-day. 

marie. 
What does he want? 



Magda. 1 5 



MAX. 

He wants to interest himself in the missions 
— no, it 's in our home work particularly, I 
think. I don't know — Well, at any rate he 
wants to come to the committee meeting to- 
morrow. 

MARIE. 

I '11 call father and mother. \_Enter Theresa 
with a card.~] Show him in. [Exit Theresa.] 
Entertain him until I come back. [ Gives him 
her hand.'] And we '11 talk again about the 
pastor some other time ? 

MAX. 

In spite of the proprieties ? 

marie. 

Oh, Max, I've been too forward ! Have n't 

I? 

MAX. 

Marie ! 

marie. 

No, no — we won't speak of it. Good-by. 

[Exit Marie. 

Enter Von Keller, 
max. 

You must content yourself with me for a 
few minutes, my dear Von Keller. [They shake 
hands.] 



i6 



Magda. 



VON KELLER. 

With pleasure, my good sir, with pleasure. 
[&'/.?.] How our little town is changed by the 
festival ! It really seems as if we were in the 
great world. 

MAX. 

[_Laughing.~] I advise you not to say that 
aloud. 

VON KELLER. 

What did I say? I assure you I did not 
mean anything. If such a misunderstanding 
got abroad — 

MAX. 

You have nothing to fear from me ! 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, of course not. Ah, how much better it 
would be to know nothing of the outer world ! 

MAX. 

How long were you away ? 

VON KELLER. 

Five years, with examinations and being sent 
down to commissioners and all that. Well, 
now I am back again. I drink home-brewed 
beer; I patronize local tailors; I have even, 
with a noble fearlessness of death, eaten the 
deer-steak of the season ; and this I call pleas- 
ure ! Yes, youth, travel, and women are good 
things ; but the world must be ruled, and sober 



Magda. 



«7 



met* «i-e needed. Your time will come some 
day. The years of honor are approaching. 
Yes, yes, especially when one joins the eccle- 
siastical courts. 

MAX. 

Are you going to do that? 

VON KELLER. 

I think of it. And to be at one with those 
of the cloth — I speak quite openly with you 
— it is worth my while, in short, to interest 
myself in religious questions. I have of late 
in my speeches, as perhaps you know, taken 
this position ; and as for the connections which 
this household has — let me tell you I am 
proud of them. 

MAX. 

You might have been proud long ago. 

VON KELLER. 

Excuse me, am I over-sensitive? Or do I 
read a reproach in your words ? 

MAX. 

Not quite that, but — if you will pardon me, 
it has sometimes appeared — and not to me 
alone — as if you avoided the houses where my 
uncle's family were to be found. 

VON KELLER. 

And my presence here now — does not that 
prove the contrary? 

2 



1 8 Magda. 



MAX. 

Exactly. And therefore I too will speak 
very frankly. You were the last person to 
meet my lost cousin, Magda. 

VON KELLER. 

[Confused.~\ Who says — 

MAX. 

You yourself have spoken of it, I am told. 
You met her with my friend Heydebrand when 
he was at the military academy. 

VON KELLER. 

Yes, yes, it 's true. 

MAX. 

It was wrong of me not to ask you about her 
openly, but you will probably understand my 
reticence. I feel almost as if I belonged to 
this family and I feared to learn something 
which might disgrace it. 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, not at all, not in the least. It was like 
this. When I was in Berlin for the State Exam- 
inations, I saw one day on Leipsic Street a fa- 
miliar face, — a home face, if I may say so. You 
know what that is when one is far away. Well, 
we spoke to each other. I learned that she 
was studying to sing in opera, and that for this 
purpose she had left her home. 



Magda. 



19 



MAX. 



Not exactly. She left home to be compan- 
ion to an old lady. [Hesitates."] There was a 
difference with her father. 

VON KELLER. 

A love affair? 

MAX. 

In a way. Her father supported the suitor 
and told her to obey or leave his house. 

VON KELLER. 

And she went away? 

MAX. 

Yes. Then, a year later, when she wrote that 
she was going on the stage, it made the breach 
complete. But what else did you hear? 

VON KELLER. 

That 's all. 

MAX. 

Nothing else ? 

VON KELLER. 

Well, well, — I met her once or twice at the 
opera-house where she had a pass. 

MAX. 

And you know absolutely nothing of her 
life? 



20 Magda. 



VON KELLER. 

\With a shrug.~] Have you heard nothing 
from her? 

MAX. 

Nothing at all. Well, at any rate, I am 
grateful to you. I beg you, however, not to 
mention the meeting to my uncle, unless he 
asks you about it directly. He knows of it, of 
course, but the name of the lost daughter is 
never mentioned in this house. 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, I have tact enough not to do that. 

MAX. 

And what do you think has become of her? 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, music is a lottery. Ten thousand blanks 
and one prize. A host of beginners and but 
one who makes a career. If one becomes a 
Patti or a Sembrich, or, to come down to our 
own Festival — 

Enter Schwartze and Mrs. Schwartze. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Shaking hands.] Welcome to my house ! 
Councillor von Keller, my wife. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Pray sit down. 



Magda. 



21 



VON KELLER. 

I should not have dared, madam, to ask the 
honor of this introduction had I not wished so 
strongly to share in the good and useful work 
which centres here. My purpose may excuse 
my temerity. 

SCHWARTZE. 

You 're very kind ; but you do us too much 
honor. If you seek the centre of the whole 
movement, Pastor Heffterdingt is the man. He 
inspires all ; he controls all ; he — 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Do you know our pastor, sir? 

VON KELLER. 

I have heard him speak many times, dear 
lady, and have admired equally the sincerity of 
his convictions and his naive faith in human 
nature. But I cannot comprehend the influ- 
ence he exerts. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

You will find it out. He is so plain and sim- 
ple that one hardly realizes what a man he is. 
He brings every one round. 

VON KELLER. 

I am almost converted already, dear lady. 



22 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

As for us here, all I can do is to give these 
weak and useless hands to help on the great 
work. It 's only right that an old soldier should 
dedicate the little strength left him by the 
throne to the service of the altar. Those are 
the two causes to fight for. 

VON KELLER. 

That 's a great thought ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Thanks, thanks, but no more of this. Ah, 
ten years ago, when they gave me my discharge, 
I was a devil of a fellow. Max, doesn't my old 
battalion still tremble at my name ? 

MAX. 

That they do, uncle. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Ah, that is one thing you escape in the 
civil service, — • being laid on the shelf without 
any fault of your own, — without the shadow of a 
fault. Then there came a slight stroke of apo- 
plexy. See how my hand trembles now ! And 
what had I to look forward to ? It was then that 
my young friend, Heffterdingt, showed me the 
way, through work and prayer, to a new youth. 
Without him I never should have found it. 



Magda. 23 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

You mustn't believe all he says, Mr. von 
Keller. If he did n't always depreciate himself, 
he would be better thought of in the highest 
circles. 

VON KELLER. 

High and low, madam, everywhere your 
husband is known and honored. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Lighting up.'] Indeed ? Ah, well, no van- 
ity. No, no, that is the moth that corrupts. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Is it really so wrong to wish for a little 
honor ? 

VON KELLER. 

Oh! 

SCHWARTZE. 

What is honor ? You would call it being led 
up the room by the governor, or being asked 
to tea at the castle when the royal family is 
here. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

You know very well that the latter honor has 
never fallen to my lot. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Oh, yes, pardon me. I knew your weak spot. 
I should have avoided it. 



24 



Magda. 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, just think, Councillor. Mrs. Fanny 
Hirschfeld of the Children's Hospital was in- 
vited, and I was not. 

VON KELLER, 

\_Deprecatingly.~\ Oh ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Laughing, and stroking her head.] Ah, the 
moth that corrupts, the moth that corrupts ! 
[Enter Marie with the coffee. She bows in a 
friendly way to Von Keller.] Herr von Keller, 
my daughter — my only daughter. 

VON KELLER. 

I Ve already had the pleasure. 

MARIE. 

I can't offer you a hand for welcome, Dr. 
Von Keller, but you may have a cup of coffee 
instead. 

VON KELLER. 

[Helping himself and looking at the others."] 
I am very fortunate in being treated like an old 
acquaintance of the family. 

SCHWARTZE. 

As far as we are concerned, you shall become 
not only an acquaintance but a friend. And 
that is no conventional politeness, Councillor ; 
for I know you, and in these times, when all the 



Magda. 



2 5 



ties of morality and authority seem strained to 
bursting, it is doubly necessary that those who 
stand for the good old patriarchal order should 
hold together. 

VON KELLER. 

Very true, very true indeed. One does n't 
hear such sentiments as that in the world in 
general, where modern ideas pass current for 
small change. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Modern ideas ! Oh, pshaw ! I know them. 
But come into the quiet homes where are 
bred brave soldiers and virtuous wives. There 
you '11 hear no talk about heredity, no arguments 
about individuality, no scandalous gossip. There 
modern ideas have no foothold, for it is there 
that the life and strength of the Fatherland 
abide. Look at this home ! There is no luxury, 
— hardly even what you call good taste, — faded 
rugs, birchen chairs, old pictures ; and yet when 
you see the beams of the western sun pour 
through the white curtains and lie with such a 
loving touch on the old room, does not some- 
thing say to you, " Here dwells true happi- 
ness " ? [Von Keller nods with conviction .] 

SCHWARTZE. 

\Broodingly.~\ And here it might have 
dwelt ! 

MARIE. 

[Hurrying to Aim.'] Papa ! 



26 Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, yes, I know. Well, in this house rules 
old-fashioned paternal authority. And it shall 
rule as long as I live. And am I therefore a 
tyrant? Tell me. You ought to know. 

MARIE. 

You 're the best, the dearest — 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

He is so excitable, you see, Councillor. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Have you not been well brought up ? And 
shall we not hold together, we three ? But the 
age goes on planting rebellion in children's 
hearts, putting mistrust between man and wife 
[rises], and it will never be satisfied till the last 
roof-tree smokes in ruins, and men wander 
about the streets, fearful and alone, like home- 
less curs. [Sinks back exhausted,] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

You ought not to get so wrought up, papa. 
You know it is bad for you. [Max makes a 
sign to Von Keller.] 

VON KELLER. 

Shall I go? [Max nods.] This is an inter- 
esting subject to develop, Colonel. I must say 
I think perhaps you are a little severe. But my 
time — 



Magda. 27 

SCHWARTZE. 

Severe? Ah, well, don't think ill of an old 
man for speaking a little too hotly. 

VON KELLER. 

Ah, sir, heat is the badge of youth. I believe 
I am a graybeard beside you. 

SCHWARTZE. 

No, no. [Presses his hand.~\ 

VON KELLER. 

Madam ! Miss Marie ! [Exit Max fol- 
lows him.~\ 

SCHWARTZE. 

Greet the battalion for me, my boy. 

MAX. 

I will, dear uncle. [Exit 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

A very agreeable man. 

MARIE. 

Almost too agreeable. 

SCHWARTZE. 

You are speaking of our guest ! [Mrs. 
Schwartze makes Marie a sign to be careful.~\ 

MARIE. 

Will you have your pipe, papa? 



28 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, dea,r. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

The gentlemen of the card-club will be here 
soon. How lucky that we did n't eat the 
haunch of venison Sunday ! I 've ordered some 
red wine for the General, too. I paid three 
marks ; that 's not too dear, is it ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

Not if it 's good. Is your sister coming 
to-day ? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

I think so. 

SCHWARTZE. 

She was asked to the Governor's yesterday, 
wasn't she? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

[Sighing."] Yes. 



SCHWARTZE. 

And we were not. Poor thing ! She must 
look out for me to-day if she boasts. [Aside] 
Old cat! 

MARIE. 

\Kneels before him, lighting his pipe.] Be 
good, father dear. What harm does it do 
you? 



Magda. 



29 



SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, yes, darling. I '11 be good. But my 
heart is sore. [Bell rings. Marie hurries 
out.'] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Here they are. 

Enter Major- General von Klebs, Professor 
Beckmann, and Marie. 

von klebs. 

My humblest respects to the ladies. Ah, my 
dear madam ! [Kisses her ha?id.~] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Make yourselves at home, gentlemen. 

VON KLEBS. 

Ha, my dear Colonel, hearty as ever? All 
ready for the fray, little one? Now we are 
all right. But we were almost too late. We 
were caught in the Music Festival crowd. 
Such a confusion ! I was bringing the school- 
master along, and just as we passed by the 
German House, there was a great crush of 
people, gaping as if there were a princess at 
the least. And what do you suppose it was? 
A singer ! These are really what one may call 
goings-on. All this fuss about a singer ! What 
do they call the person? 



3° 



Magda. 



BECKMANN. 

Ah, General, we seem to be in a strange land 
to-day. 

VON KLEBS. 

We are under a curse, my dear madam. We 
are bearing a penance. \They sit.~\ 

BECKMANN. 

But you must know dall' Orto, the great Ital- 
ian Wagner singer. We are very fortunate in 
getting her for the festival. If she were not 
here — 

VON KLEBS. 

Well, well, what if she were not? Eh? I 
hoped that our strictly moral circle, at least, 
would hold itself aloof from all this. But since 
the Governor gives receptions in the lady's 
honor ! And, best of all, to cap the climax, 
who do you think was standing to-day among 
the enthusiasts, craning his neck like the rest? 
You '11 never guess. It 's too inconceivable. 
The pastor ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

The pastor? 

VON KLEBS. 

Yes, our pastor. 

SCHWARTZE. 

How extraordinary ! 



Magda. 3 1 

VON KLEBS. 

Now, I ask you, what did he want there? 
And what did the others want there? And 
what good is the whole festival? 

BECKMANN. 

I should think that the cultivation of the 
faculty of the ideal among the people was an 
object — 

VON KLEBS. 

The way to cultivate the faculty of the ideal 
is to found a Soldiers' Union. 

SCHWARTZE. 

But, General, every one is n't so lucky as to 
be a soldier. 

VON KLEBS. 

[Sorting his cards. ~\ Well, we have been, 
Colonel. I know no one, I wish to know no one, 
who has not been a soldier. And all this so- 
called Art, — what good does it do ? 

BECKMANN. 

Art raises the moral tone of the people. 

VON KLEBS. 

There we have it, madam ! — We 're beaten, 
beaten by the hero of Koniggratz. — I tell you 
Art is a mere invention of those who are afraid 
to be soldiers to gain an important position for 
themselves. I pass. 



32 Magda. 

SCHWARTZE. 

I pass. 

BECKMANN. 

And will you maintain that Art — I have 
the nine of spades. 

[Bell rings. Exit Marie. Von Klebs makes 
an impatient movement. Schwartze quiets 
him. They begin to play.] 

Enter Franziska, followed by the Pastor. 

VON KLEBS. 

Ah, Miss Franziska ! [Aside'] That is the 
end of us ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

No, no, we '11 send her into the garden. 

FRANZISKA. 

[Throwing herself into a chair. ~] Oh, I am 

so hot ! I must get my breath. Pray don't 
put yourself out, General. 

BECKMANN. 

Nine of spades ! 

VON KLEBS. 

Hello, here 's the pastor too ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Good-day to you ! [He shakes hands with 
each.] 



Magda. 33 

VON KLEBS. 

How long have you been running after the 
singers. Pastor? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

What? Oh, yes. Yes, I am running after 
singers. That 's my occupation now. 

SCHWARTZE. 

You can play with our card- party though, 
can't you? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Unfortunately, no. I must, on the contrary, 
ask for a few serious words with you, my dear 
sir. 

VON KLEBS. 

Ah, but you '11 put it off, won't you, Pastor? 

FRANZISKA. 

Oh, for Heaven's sake ! It 's so important. 
There must be no delay. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Is my sister-in-law in it too ? 

FRANZISKA." 

Very much so. 

VON KLEBS. 

Oh, well, we can go away again. 

3 



34 Magda. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Oh, we should n't like that at all. 

SCHWARTZE. 

If it were not you, dear pastor, who sepa- 
rated us ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

But perhaps, Marie, the gentlemen would be 
willing to take a turn with you in the garden. 

VON KLEBS. 

Certainly ! That 's good ! That 's famous ! 
That 's what we '11 do ! Miss Marie, be so good 
as to lead the way. 

BECKMANN. 

Shall we leave the cards as they lie ? 

VON KLEBS. 

Yes, you have the nine of spades. Come on. 
[Exit Von Klebs, Beckmann, and Marie. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Well? 

FRANZISKA. 

Good Lord, don't you see how upset I am? 
You might at least give me a glass of water. 
[Mrs. Schwartze brings it~] 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Will you promise me, my dear sir, that what- 
ever may happen you will preserve your calm- 



Magda. 



35 



ness? You may believe me, much depends 
upon it. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, yes ; but what — 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Miss Franziska will tell you better. 

FRANZISKA. 

[After drinking the water .] This is a day 
indeed ! Fate is avenging me. This man has 
for years outraged my holiest feelings, but to- 
day I can heap coals of fire on his head. 
[Moved.] Brother-in-law, give me your hand. 
Sister, yours. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Pardon me, dear Miss Franziska, I think your 
news is so important that — 

FRANZISKA. 

[Melting.] Don't be angry, don't be angry. 
I am so upset ! Well, yesterday I was at the 
Governor's. Only the nobility and the most 
important people were asked. You were n't 
asked ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Angrily.] No. 

FRANZISKA. 

I did not mean to offend you. Oh, I am so 
upset ! [Suppressing a sob at a sign from the 



3 6 Magda. 



Pastor.] Yes, yes, yes. I had on my yellow 
silk dress with the Brussels lace — you know 
I 've had the train shortened. Well, as I stepped 
into the room — whom do you think I saw ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

Well, well, who ? 

FRANZISKA. 

[Sobbing.] Your child ! Magdalene ! 

[Schwartze staggers, and is supported by the 
Pastor. Mrs. Schwartze cries out A pause.] 

SCHWARTZE. 

Pastor? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

It is true. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Standing up.] Magdalene is no longer my 
child. 

FRANZISKA. 

Ah, just wait. If you listen, you '11 look at it 
in quite another light. Such a child you will 
welcome with open arms. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Magdalene is no longer my child. 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

But you may at least hear the circumstances. 



Magda. 



37 



SCHWARTZE. 

\Dazed7\ Yes, I suppose so. 

FRANZISKA. 

\At a sign from Heffterdingt.] Well, the 
great dining-hall was crammed. They were 
almost all strangers. Then I saw his Excel- 
lency coming down the room. And on his arm 
was a lady — 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

On his Excellency's arm ? 

FRANZISKA. 

With dark hair, and very proud and tall — 
and around her a crowd of men just like the 
circle about royalty — and chatting and laugh- 
ing. And any one to whom she spoke seemed 
as happy as if it were the Princess. And she 
wore half a dozen orders, and an orange band 
with a medal about her neck. I was wondering 
what royal personage it could be — when she 
turned half around — and — I knew Magda's 
eyes ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Impossible ! 

FRANZISKA. 

That is what I saw ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

My dear Colonel, it is true. 



38 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

If she — [Clasping his hands.'] At least she 
has not fallen ! She has not fallen ! Father in 
Heaven, Thou hast kept her safely ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

And what is she, to have such honor — 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

She has become a great singer, and calls her- 
self, in Italian, Maddalene dair Orto. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Listen, listen, Leopold, the famous singer of 
whom the papers are so full is our child ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Magda is no longer my child. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Is that your fixed resolve ? 

FRANZISKA. 

What sort of a heart have you ? You ought 
to imitate me. She offended me as only she 
could, — the little wretch! That is, then she 
was a little wretch. But now — well, she did 
not look at me ; but if she had — 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Leopold, she was on his Excellency's arm ! 



Magda. 



39 



SCHWARTZE. 

I tell you, and you, — and you, too, Pastor, — 
that I would rather have seen her lying in rags and 
tatters at my feet and begging for forgiveness. 
For then I should have known that she was still, 
at heart, my child. But why has she come back 
here ? The world was large enough for her tri- 
umph. Why should she rob this humble pro- 
vincial nest of ours? I know why. To show 
her miserable father how far one can rise in the 
world by treading filial duty into the dust, — that 
is her intention. Pride and arrogance speak in 
her, and nothing else. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

My dear Colonel, I might ask, what speaks 
in you? A father's love? You could make 
no pretence to that. Your rights? I think 
rather it would be your right to rejoice in the 
good fortune of your child. Offended custom ? 
I don't know — Your daughter has done so 
much through her own strength that even of- 
fended custom might at least condone it. It 
appears to me that pride and arrogance speak 
in you — and nothing else. 

SCHWARTZE. 

{Angrily."] Pastor ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Oh, don't be angry — there is no need of 
that. When I have something to say, I must 



4 o 



Magda. 



say it, mustn't I? I might almost think that 
it displeased you that she has climbed so high 
in spite of you. Your pride demands something 
to forgive, and you are angry because there is 
nothing to be forgiven. And now, let me ask 
you, do you seriously wish that she had found 
her way home, lost and ruined ? Do you dare 
answer for such a wish before the throne of 
God? \A silence •.] No, my dear old friend. 
You have often, in jest, called me your good 
angel \ let me be so once, in reality. Come 
with me — now — to-day. 

FRANZISKA. 

If you 'd only seen — [Heffterdingt stops 
her.'] 

SCHWARTZE. 

Has she made the slightest effort to approach 
her parents? Has she thought of her home 
with one throb of love? Who will vouch for 
it that my outstretched hand will not be re- 
pulsed with scorn? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I will vouch for it. 

SCHWARTZE. 

You? You, above all, have had a proof of 
her untamable pride. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

\With embarrassment You should not 
have reminded me of that. 



Magda. 



4i 



Enter Marie with flowers, and Theresa. 

MARIE. 

Papa, papa, listen to what Theresa — Oh ! 
am I interrupting? 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Pulling himself together^ What is it? 

MARIE. 

To-day I got some more flowers ; and when I 
sent Theresa back to the florist's, she found out 
it was not a man, but a lady, who had ordered 
them. And she couldn't sell them again; so 
she brought them back. {The others exchange 
glance sJ] 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Tell me, Theresa, did they describe this lady 

to you ? 

THERESA. 

She was tall, with great dark eyes, and there 
was something very distinguished and foreign 
about her. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

[Leads Marie to the back of the stage, and lays 
his hand on Schwartze's arm.] You asked for 
a token of love ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Staring at the flowers."] From her ! 



4 2 



Magda. 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

They must have cost a small fortune ! 

MARIE. 

Theresa has something else very wonderful 
to tell, too. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

What is it, Theresa? Quick ! 

THERESA. 

If the pastor wishes it. When I came back, 
the porter told me that last evening in the twi- 
light a carriage stopped before the door ; there 
was a lady inside. She didn't get out, but 
kept watching all the windows of our house 
where there were lights. And when he went 
out to ask what she wanted, she said something 
to her coachman, and they were gone ! [All 
show signs of astonishment'] 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

That 's all, Theresa. [Exit Theresa. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Pardon us, dear Miss Marie, if we treat you 
once more like a child, and ask you to leave us 
alone for a moment. 

MARIE. 

I am so frightened at all this, Pastor. [Im- 
ploringly^ Papa ? 



Magda. 43 

SCHWARTZE. 

What is it, child ? 

MARIE. 

Papa, papa, do you know who this lady is ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

I ? No. I can only guess. 

MARIE. 

[Bursting out.] Magdalene — Magda ! Mag- 
da is here ! [Falling on her knees.] Oh, you 
will forgive her? 

SCHWARTZE. 

Get up, my child. Your sister is far above 
my poor forgiveness. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

She is not above your love. 

MARIE. 

Magda is here ! Magda herself is here ! 
[Throws her arms about her mother's neck, 
weeping.'] 

FRANZiSKA. 

Won't any one bring me a glass of water? I 
am so upset ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Are you quite resolved? [Schwartze re- 
mains motionless.'] Will you let her go on her 
way without — 



44 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

That would be best. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

How will it be with you if in your death-hour 
a longing for your lost child comes upon you, 
and all you can say to yourself is, " She stood be- 
fore my door and I would not open it " ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

\_Shaken and half convinced^ What would 
you have me do? Must I abase myself before 
my runaway child ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

No, you shall not do that. I - — I — will go 
to her. 

SCHWARTZE. 

You ? Pastor — you ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

This afternoon I waited before her hotel to 
see if Miss Franziska had not been mistaken. 
At a quarter to four she came out of the house 
and got into her carriage. 

MARIE. 

You saw her? 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

How did she look? What did she have on? 



Magda. 45 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

The performance began at four, and must be 
almost over now. I will wait for her again at 
the hotel, and will tell her that she will find your 
arms open to her. May I ? 

MARIE. 

Yes, yes, papa, won't you let him ? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Just think with whom your daughter — 

SCHWARTZE. 

Will you swear to me that no weak and per- 
sonal motives are mixed with your intention, — 
that you do what you do in the name of our 
Lord and Saviour? 

HEFFTERDINGT, 

I swear it ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Then God's will be done. [Marie gives a 
cry of joy. Heffterdingt presses Schwartze's 
hand.'] 

SCHWARTZE. 



[Holding his hand, speaking softly.'] The 
way will be hard for you, I know. Your lost 
youth — your pride — 



46 



Magda. 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

Dear Colonel, I begin to think that pride is 
a very poor sort of thing. It really profits us 
little to have it always in our mouths. I am 
giving back a daughter to an old father. I 
am giving back a home to an erring soul. That, 
I think, is enough. [Exit Marie throws 
herself on her father's breast, laughing and 
crying, ] 



Magda, 



47 



ACT II. 

Scene same as Act I. // is evening ; only a 
slight glow of sunset still shines through the 
windows. 

[Marie and Theresa discovered^ 

THERESA. 

\_Bringing in a lighted lamp.~] Miss Marie ! 
Miss Marie ! — What is she staring at all the 
time ? Miss Marie ! 

marie [starting']. 
[ From the window. ~] What do you want ? 

THERESA. 

Shall I lay the supper? 

MARIE. 

Not yet. 

THERESA. 

It 's half-past seven. 

MARIE. 



And he left at half-past six. The perform- 
ance must have been over long ago. She will 
not come. 



48 Magda. 



THERESA. 

Who? Is any one coming to supper? 



MARIE. 



No, no, no. [As Theresa is going."] Theresa ! 
do you suppose you could pick a couple o* 
bouquets in the garden? 

THERESA. 

I might try, but I could n't tell what I was 
getting. It 's almost pitch dark. 

MARIE. 

Yes, yes. You may go. 

THERESA. 

Shall I try to pick the flower.*, or — 

MARIE. 

No — thank you, no. 

THERESA. 

[Aside."] What is the matter with her ? 

[Exit 

Enter Mrs. Schwartze. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Well, Marie, whatever happens I Ve put on 
my other cap, — the one with the ribbons. Is 
it straight? 



Magda. 49 



MARIE. 

Yes, mamma dear, very nice. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Has n't Aunt Frankie come up yet? 

MARIE. 

No. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Heavens ! I forgot the two gentlemen en- 
tirely. And papa has locked himself up, and 
will hear nothing and see nothing. Oh, if the 
General should be offended 1 It is our most 
aristocratic connection. That would be a mis- 
fortune indeed. 

MARIE. 

Oh, mamma dear, when he hears what is the 
matter ! ? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, yes, I know. And the pastor has not 
come either. Marie, one minute. If she should 
ask you — 

MARIE. 

Who? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Why, Magda. 

MARIE. 

Magda ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

What am I to you, Marie ? They call it step- 
mother. I 'm more than that, am I not? 
4 



Magda. 



MARIE. 

Certainly, mamma dear. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

You see, then I could not get used to having 
two such big daughters. But it's all right now? 
[Marie nods.~\ And we do love each other? 

MARIE. 

Very much, mamma dear. [She kisses her.~\ 
Enter Franziska. 

FRANZISKA. 

\_Irritably.~] One 's always disturbing these 
affecting tableaux ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

What did the General say? 

FRANZISKA. 

The General? R'm, he was angry enough: 
" To leave us alone for an hour and a half, that 's 
nice courtesy," he said. And I think myself — 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

\To Marie, very sadly. ~] There, what did I 
tell you? 

FRANZISKA. 

Well, this time I smoothed the thing over, so 
that the gentlemen went away in a good humor. 



Magda. 51 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Really ! Oh, I thank you, Frankie, a thousand 
times. 

FRANZISKA. 

Yes, I 'm good enough to run errands and 
play the scullery-maid ; but when it comes to 
being one of the family, an old aunt with her 
heart full of love — 

MARIE. 

Who has offended you, Aunt Frankie ? 

FRANZISKA. 

Yes, that 's very fine. But a little while ago, 
when I was so upset, no one troubled himself 
about me one bit. To guarantee an income so 
that our little miss can be married, I am — 

MARIE. 

Aunt Frankie ! 

FRANZISKA. 

But as long as I live — 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

What are you talking about? 

FRANZISKA. 

We know, we two. And to-day. Who 
brought back your daughter to you? 



52 Magda. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

But she has n't yet — 

FRANZISKA. 

I brought back your daughter to you. And 
who thanks me for it? And who recognizes 
that I have pardoned her? For I have par- 
doned her [weeping] everything ! 

Enter Theresa, in great excitement. 

MARIE. 

What is it, Theresa? 

THERESA. 

I am so frightened — 

MARIE. 

What *s the matter? 

THERESA. 

The carriage — 

MARIE. 

What carriage ? 

THERESA. 

The same as last night. 

MARIE. 

Is it there ? Is it there ? [Runs to the win- 
dowJ] Mamma, mamma, come, she 's there — 
the carriage — 



Magda. 53 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Why, there is a carriage. 

MARIE. 

[Beating on the door at the left] Papa, papa ! 
Come quickly, be merciful, come quickly ! 

[Exit Theresa at a sign from Franziska. 

Enter Schwartze. 

SCHWARTZE. 

What 's the matter? 

MARIE. 

Magda — the carriage ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Good God ! [Hurries to the window.^ 

MARIE. 

Look — look ! She 's standing up ! She 's 
trying to look into the windows. [Clapping her 
hands."] Papa ! papa ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

What is it you have to say? 

MARIE. 

[Frightened.'] I ? Nothing. 



54 Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

Perhaps you were going to say, " She stood 
before your door and you would not open it." 
Eh? 

MARIE. 

Yes, yes. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Do you hear, wife? She stands before our 
door. Shall we — in spite of our pride — shall 
we call her in ? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Oh, Leopold, since everybody thinks so much 
of her — 

MARIE. 

Ah ! She 's driving away ! 



SCHWARTZE. 

No, no, she 's not. Come, we will bring her 
to you. 

FRANZISKA. 

Yes, yes, bring her to me, too. 

[Exit Schwartze and Mrs. Schwartze. 

MARIE. 

She 's sitting back again ! If only the car- 
riage does n't — What a long time they are ! 
They must have got downstairs. [Frightened, 
almost beside herself C] There — there — -oh, 
don't go away ! Magda ! Magda ! 



Magda. 



55 



FRANZISKA. 

Don't scream so ! What 's the matter? 

MARIE. 

She 's looking round. She 's seen them. She 's 
stopping. She 's bursting open the door. She 's 
jumped out ! Now ! Now ! She 's in father's 
arms ! [Covers her face and sobs.] Oh, Aunt 
Frankie I Aunt Frankie ! 

FRANZISKA. 

What else could a father do ? Since I have 
forgiven her, he could not — he could not hold 
out — 

MARIE. 

She 's between father and mother. Oh, how 
grand she is ! She 's coming — she 's coming. 
What a homely little thing I shall seem beside 
her ! Oh, I am so frightened ! [Leans against 
the wall, left. A pause. Voices of Magda and 
her parents are heard outside.'] 

Enter Magda, brilliantly dressed, with a large 
mantle, and a Spanish veil on her head. 
She embraces Marie. 

magda. 

My puss ! My little one ! How my little 
one has grown ! My pet — my — [kissing her 
passionately]. But what 's the matter? You 're 
dizzy. Come, sit down. No, no, please sit 



56 



Magda. 



down. Now. Yes, you must. [ Places Marie 
in an arm-chair.] Dear little hands, dear 
little hands ! [Kneels before her, kissing and 
stroking her hands, .] But they 're rough and 
red, and my darling is pale. There are rings 
round her eyes. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Lays his hand lightly on her shoulder."] 
Magda, we are here too. 

MAGDA. 

Yes, yes — I 'm entirely — [Standing up, 
affectionately.] Dear old papa ! How white 
you have become ! Dear papa ! [Taking his 
hand.] But what 's the matter with your hand ? 
It 's trembling. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Nothing, my child. Don't ask about it. 

MAGDA. 

H'm — and you 've grown handsomer with 
the years. I can't look at you enough. I shall 
be very proud with such a handsome papa. 
But she must get better [indicating Marie]. 
She's as white as milk. Do you take iron? 
Eh? You must take iron? [tenderly]. Just 
to think that I am at home ! It seems like 
a fairy tale. It was a capital idea of yours to 
call me back without any explanations — senza 
complimenti — for we 've outgrown those silly 
misunderstandings long ago. 



Magda. 57 



SCHWARTZE. 

Misunderstandings ! 

MAGDA. 

I came near driving away. Would not that 
have been bad of me ? But you must acknowl- 
edge, I have scratched at the door — very 
quietly, very modestly — like Lady when she 
had run away. Where is Lady? Her place is 
empty. [ Whistles."] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Why, she 's been dead seven years ! 

MAGDA. 

Ah, povera bestia — yes, I forgot. And, 
mamma ! — yes, mamma ! I haven't looked at 
you yet. How pretty you Ve grown ! You used 
to have an air of belated youth about you that 
was not becoming. But now you 're a dear, 
old little mother. One wants to lay one's head 
quietly in your lap. I will, too. It '11 do me 
good. Ah, what fine quarrels we used to have ! 
I was a contrary little beast. And you held up 
your end. But now we '11 smoke the pipe of 
peace, sha'n't we ? 

MRS. SCHWARZE. 

You 're joking with me, Magda. 



58 



Magda. 



MAGDA. 

Sha'n't I ? May n't I ? There, there, — pure 
love, pure love. We will have nothing but 
love. We shall be the best of friends. 

FRANZISKA. 

[ Who has for a long time tried to attract at- 
tention.^ And we also, eh, my dear Magda? 

MAGDA. 

Tiens, tiens / [Examines her critically 
through her lorgnette.^ Same as ever. Always 
active? Always, as of old, the centre of the 
family ? 

FRANZISKA. 

Oh — 

MAGDA. 

Well, give us your hand ! There. I never 
could bear you, and shall never learn, I 'm 
afraid. That runs in the blood, doesn't it? 

FRANZISKA. 

I have already forgiven you. 

MAGDA. 

Really ! Such magnanimity ! I hardly — 
Do you really forgive everything? From top 
to bottom? Even that you stirred up my 
mother against me before she ever came into 
the house ? That you made my father — [Puts 
her hand to her lips.~\ Meglio tacere ! Meglio 
tacere I 



Magda. 59 



MARIE. 

[Interrupting.] For Heaven's sake, Magda ! 

MAGDA. 

Yes, my darling — nothing, not a word. 

FRANZISKA. 

She has a fine presence ! 

MAGDA. 

And now let me look about me ! Ah, every- 
thing 's just the same. Not a speck of dust 
has moved. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

I hope, Magda, that you won't find any specks 
of dust. 

MAGDA. 

I 'm sure of that, mammina. That was n't 
what I meant. Twelve years ! Without a 
trace ! Have I dreamed all that comes be- 
tween ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

You will have a great deal to tell us, Magda. 

MAGDA. 

\_StarHng.~] What? Well, we will see, we 
will see. Now I should like — What would 
I like ? I must sit still for a moment. It all 
comes over me so. When I think — From 
that door to the window, from this table to the 
old bureau, — that was once my world. 



6o Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

A world, my child, which one never outgrows, 
which one never should outgrow — you have 
always held to that ? 

MAGDA. 

What do you mean ? And what a face you 
make over it ! Yes, yes, though — that question 
came at the right time. I have been a fool ! 
I have been a fool ! My dear old papa, this 
happiness will be short. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Why? 

MAGDA. 

What do you think of me ? Do you think I 
am as free as I appear? I 'm a weary, worn- 
out drudge who is only fortunate when the lash 
is on her back. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Whose drudge ? What lash ? 

MAGDA. 

That I can't explain, dear father. You don't 
know my life. You probably would n't under- 
stand it, either. Every day, every hour has its 
work laid out. Ah, well, now I must go back 
to the hotel. 

MARIE. 

No, Magda, no. 



Magda. 61 

MAGDA. 

Yes, puss, yes. There have been six or 
seven men there for ever so long, waiting for 
an audience. But I tell you what, 1 must have 
you to-night. Can't you sleep with me ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

Of course. That is — what do you mean — 
sleep where? 

MAGDA. 

At the hotel. 

SCHWARTZE. 

What? You won't stay! You'll put such 
an affront on us? 

MAGDA. 

What are you thinking of? I have a whole 
retinue with me. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Your father's house is the place for this 
retinue. 

MAGDA. 

I don't know. It is rather lively. First, 
there 's Bobo, my parrot, a darling, — he 
would n't be bad ; then my pet maid, Giulietta, 
a little demon, — I can't live without her ; then 
my courier, — he 's a tyrant, and the terror of 
landlords; and then we mustn't forget my 
teacher. 

FRANZISKA. 

He 's a very old man, I hope. 



62 Magda. 

MAGDA. 

No, he 's a very young man. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[After a silence.~\ Then you must have for- 
gotten your — your dame d'honneur. 

MAGDA. 

What dame d^honneur? 

SCHWARTZE. 

You can't travel about from country to 
country with a young man without — 

MAGDA. 

Ah ! does that disquiet you ? I can, ■ — be 
quite easy, — I can. In my world we don't 
trouble ourselves about such things. 

SCHWARTZE. 

What world is that? 

MAGDA. 

The world I rule, father dear. I have no 
other. There, whatever I do is right because 
I do it. 

SCHWARTZE. 

That is an enviable position. But you are 
still young. There must be cases when some 
direction — in short, whose advice do you follow 
in your transactions ? 



Magda. 63 

MAGDA. 

There is no one who has the right to advise 
me, papa dear. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Well, my child, from this hour your old 
father claims that right. Theresa ! [Theresa 
answers from outside. ,] Go to the German 
House and bring the baggage — 

magda. 

\_Entreatingfy.~\ Pardon, father dear, you 
forget that my orders are necessary. 

SCHWARTZE. 

What ? — Yes, yes, I forgot. Do what you 
will, my daughter. 

MARIE. 

Magda — oh, Magda ! 

MAGDA. 

\Taking her mantle, .] Be patient, darling. 
We '11 have a talk soon all to our two selves. 
And you '11 all come to breakfast with me, won't 
you ? We can have a good chat and love each 
other I — so much ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

We — breakfast with you ? 

MAGDA. 

\ want to have you all under my roof. 



6 4 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

The roof of a hotel ? 

MAGDA. 

Yes, papa dear, I have no other home. 

SCHWARTZE. 

And this? 

MARIE. 

Don't you see how you Ve hurt him ? 

Enter the Pastor. He stops, and seems to 
control strong emotion. Magda examines 
him with her lorgnette. 

magda. 
He too ! Let me see. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Just think. She is going away again ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I don't know whether I am known to the 
lady. 

MAGDA. 

[Mockingly."] You 're too modest, Pastor. 
And now since I have seen you all — [Puts on 
her mantled] 

SCHWARTZE. 

\ Quickly, aside.] You must keep her* 



Magda. 65 

HEFFTERDIXGT. 

I ? If you are powerless, how can I — 

SCHWARTZE. 

Try! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

[Constraining himself ] with embarrassment^ 
Pardon me, madam, it seems very officious of 
me — if I — will you give me a few moments' 
interview ? 

MAGDA. 

What have we two to say to each other, my 
dear pastor? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Oh, do, please ! He knows best about 
everything. 

MAGDA. 

[Ironically.'] Indeed ! 

MARIE. 

I may never ask you for anything again, but 
do this one thing for my sake ! 

MAGDA. 

[Patting her and looking from one to the 
other.] Well, the child asks so prettily. Pastor, 
I am at your service. [Marie thanks her 
silently.] 

FRANZISKA. 

[Aside to Mrs. Schwartze.] Now he '11 give 
her a lecture. Come. 

S 



66 Magda. 



SCHWAftTZE. 

You were once the cause of my sending her 
from my home. To-day you must see to it that 
$Le remains. [Heffterdingt expresses doubt '.] 

SCHWARTZii. 

Marie ! 

MARIE. 

Yes, papa. 

[Exit Schwartze, Mrs. $chwartze s 
Franziska, and Maiue. 

MAGDA. 

[Sits down and examines him through her lor- 
gnette.^ So this is the man who undertakes by 
a five minutes' interview entirely and absolutely 
to break my will. That they believe in your 
ability to do it shows me that you are a king in 
your own dominions. I make obeisance. And 
now let me see you ply your arts. 

heffterdingt. 

I understand no arts, madam, and would 
avail myself of none. If they put some trust 
in me here, it is because they know that I seek 
nothing for myself. 

MAGDA. 

[Ironically^ That has always been the 
case? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

No, madam. I had, once in my life, a strong, 
an intense desire. It was to have you for my 



Magda. 



67 



wife. I need only look at you to see that I was 
presumptuous. Since then I have put the wish 
away from me. 

MAGDA. 

Ah, Pastor, I believe you 're paying court to 
me now. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Madam, if it were not discourteous — 

MAGDA. 

Oh, then even a shepherd of souls may be 
discourteous ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I should commiserate you on the atmosphere 
which has surrounded you. 

MAGDA. 

[ With mocking superiority, ,] Really ? What 
do you know about my atmosphere ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

It seems to me that it has made you forget 
that serious men are to be taken seriously. 

MAGDA. 

Ah ! [Rising.] Well, then I will take you seri- 
ously ; and I will tell you that you have always 
been unbearable to me, with your well-acted 
simplicity, your droning mildness, your — Since, 
however, you condescended to cast your eyes 
on my worthlessness and drove me from home 
with your suit, — since then, I have hated you. 



68 Magda. 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

It seems to me that according to this I was 
the foundation of your greatness. 

MAGDA. 

You 1 re right there. Here I was parched 
and stifled. No, no, I don't hate you. Why 
should I hate you so much? It 's all so far, so 
very far, behind me. If you only knew how 
far ! You have sat here day after day in this 
heavy close air, reeking of lavender, tobacco, 
and cough mixture, while I have felt the storm 
breaking about my head. Pastor, if you had a 
suspicion of what life really is, — of the trial of 
strength, of the taste of guilt, of conquest, and 
of pleasure, — you would find yourself very com- 
ical with your clerical shop- talk. Ha, ha, ha ! 
Pardon me, I don't believe such, a laugh has 
rung through this respectable house for twelve 
years ; for there 's no one here who knows 
how to laugh. Is there, eh ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

No, I fear not. 

MAGDA. 

Fear, you say. That sounds as though you 
deprecated it. But don't you hate laughter ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Most of us cannot laugh, madam. 



Magda. 69 

MAGDA. 

And to those who could, laughter is sin. 
You might laugh yourself. What have you to 
be solemn about? You need not look at the 
world with this funereal mien. Surely you have 
a little blond wife at home who knits indus- 
triously, and half a dozen curly heads around 
her, of course. It 's always so in parsonages. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I have remained single, madam. 

MAGDA. 

Ah ! [Silence J] Did I hurt you so much, 
then? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Let that be, shall we not ? It is so long ago. 

MAGDA, 

[Letting her mantle fall.~\ And your work, — 
does not that bring happiness enough? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Thank God, it does. But if one takes it 
really in earnest, one cannot live only for one's 
self; at least, I cannot. One cannot exult in 
the fulness of one's personality, as you would 
call it. And then many hearts are opened to 
me — One sees too many wounds there, that 
one cannot heal, to be quite happy. 



70 Magda. 



MAGDA. 

You 're a remarkable man — I don't know — 
if I could only get rid of the idea that you 're 
insincere. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Will you let me ask you one question before 
you go? 

MAGDA. 

Well! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

It is about an hour since you entered this 
house, your home — no, not so much. I could 
not have been waiting for you nearly as long as 
that. 

MAGDA. 

For me ? You ? W T here ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

In the corridor outside your room. 

MAGDA. 

What did you want there ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

My errand was useless, for now you are here. 

MAGDA. 

Do you mean to say that you came for me — 
you to whom I — If any one had an interest 
in keeping me away, it was you. 



Magda. 71 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

Are you accustomed to regard everything 
which those about you do as the result of selfish 
interest? 

MAGDA. 

Of course. It '$ so with me ! \_S truck by a 
new thought^ Or perhaps you — No, I 'm not 
justified in that assumption. [Sharpty.~\ Ah, 
such nonsense ! it is only fit for fairy tales. 
Well, Pastor, I '11 own that I like you now 
better, much better than of old when you — 
what shall I say? — made an honorable proposal. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

H'm! 

MAGDA. 

If you could only end it all with a laugh — 
this stony visage of yours is so unfriendly — one 
is quite sconcertata. What do you say ? Je 
ne trouve pas le mot. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Pardon me, may I ask the question now ? 

MAGDA. 

Good Lord, how inquisitive the holy man is ! 
And you don't see that I was coquetting with 
you a little. For, to have been a man's fate, — 
that flatters us women, — we are grateful for it. 
You see I have acquired some art meanwhile. 
Well, out with your question ! 



7 2 



Magda. 



HE FFTERDINGT. 

Why — why did you come home? 

MAGDA. 

Ah! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Was it not homesickness? 

MAGDA. 

No. Well, perhaps a very little. I '11 tell 
you. When I received the invitation to assist 
at this festival — why they did me the honor, I 
don't know — a very curious feeling began to 
seethe within me, — half curiosity and half shy- 
ness, half melancholy and half defiance, — which 
said : " Go home incognito. Go in the twi- 
light and stand before the paternal house where 
for seventeen years you lived in bondage. There 
look upon what you were. But if they recog- 
nize you, show them that beyond their narrow 
virtues there may be something true and good." 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Only defiance then? 

MAGDA. 

At first, perhaps. Once on the way, though, 
my heart beat most wonderfully, as it used to 
do when I 'd learnt my lesson badly. And I 
always did learn my lessons badly. When I 
stood before the hotel, the German House, — 
just think, the German House, where the great 



Magda. 



73 



officials and the great artists stayed, — there I 
had again the abject reverence as of old, as if 
I were unworthy to step on the old threshold. 
I entirely forgot that I was now myself a so- 
called great artist. Since then, every evening I 
have stolen by the house, — very quietly, very 
humbly, — always almost in tears. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

And nevertheless you are going away. 

MAGDA. 

I must. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

But — 

MAGDA. 

Don't ask me why. I must. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Has any one offended your pride ? Has any 
one said a word of your needing forgiveness? 

MAGDA. 

Not yet — or, yes, if you count the old cat. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

What is there in the world which draws you 
away again after an hour ? 

MAGDA. 



I will tell you. I felt it the first minute I 
came. The paternal authority already stretches 



74 Magda. 



its net over me again, and the yoke stands 
ready beneath which I must bow. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

But there is neither yoke nor net here. Do 
not fear shadows. Here are only wide-opened 
arms which wait to clasp the lost daughter to 
the empty breast. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, I beg you, none of that. I do not in- 
tend to furnish a pendant to the prodigal son. 
If I came back as a daughter, as a lost daugh- 
ter, I should not hold my head up before you 
as I do ; I should grovel in the dust in full con- 
sciousness of all my sins. [ With growing ex- 
citement.~\ And that I will not do — -that I 
cannot do — for I am what I am, and I cannot 
be another. [Sadly. ~] And therefore I have no 
home — therefore I must go forth again — 
therefore — 

Enter Mrs. Schwartze. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

For Heaven's sake, hush ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Excuse me, Pastor, I only wanted to know 
about supper. [Imploringly to Magda, who sits 
turned away with her hands before her face.~\ 
We happen to have a warm joint to-day. You 
know, Pastor, the gentlemen of the card-club 
were to be with us. Now, Magda, whether 



Magda. 75 



you 're going away or not, can't you eat a 
mouthful in your father's house ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Don't ask now, my dear madam. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Oh, if I 'm interrupting — I only thought — 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Later. 

MARIE. 

[Appearing in the doorway .] Will she stay? 
[Magda shrinks at the sound of the voiced 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

'Sh ! [Exit Mrs. Schwartze and Marie. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

You have no home, Miss Magda? Did you 
hear the old mother beseeching and alluring 
with the best that she has, though it 's only a 
poor dish ? Did you hear Marie's voice trem- 
bling with tears in the fear that I should not 
prevail ? They trust me too much ; they think 
I only need to speak the word. They don't 
suspect how helpless I stand here before you. 
Look ! Behind that door are three people in a 
fever of sorrow and love. If you cross this 
threshold, you rob each of them of so much 
life. And you have no home ? 



76 Magda. 



MAGDA. 

If I have one, it is not here. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

[Embarrassed."] Perhaps — Nevertheless 
you should not go. Only a few days, — just 
not to take away the idea that you belong here. 
So much you owe to thern ! 

MAGDA. 

[SadlyJ] I owe nothing now to any one 
here. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

No ? Really nothing ? Then I must tell you 
about a certain day, — eleven years ago now. 
I was called into this house in haste, for the 
Colonel was dying. When I came, he lay there 
stiff and motionless, his face drawn and white ; 
one eye was already closed, in the other still 
flickered a little life. He tried to speak, but 
his lips only quivered and mumbled. 

MAGDA. 

What had happened ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

What had happened? I will tell you. He 
had just received a letter in which his eldest 
daughter bade him farewell. 



MAGDA. 

My God ! 



Magda. 



77 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

It was a long time before he recovered from 
the apoplectic stroke. Only a trembling in the 
right arm, which you perhaps have noticed, now 
remains. 

MAGDA. 

That is indeed a debt I owe. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Ah, if that were all, Miss Magda ! Pardon 
me, I call you by the name I used long ago. 
It springs to my lips. 

MAGDA. 

Call me what you like. Go on. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

The necessary result followed. When he 
received his discharge, — he will not believe in 
the cause, don't speak to him of it, — then his 
mind broke down. 

MAGDA. 

Yes, yes ; that is my debt too. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Then you see, Miss Magda, began my work. 
If I speak of it, you must not think I am plum- 
ing myself on it to you. What good would that 
do me ? For a long, long time I nursed him, 
and by degrees I saw his mind revive again. 
First I let him collect slugs from the rose- 
bushes. 



78 Magda. 



MAGDA. 

[ With a shudder."] Ugh ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Yes, so far had it gone ; then I gave him 
charge of some money, and then I made him 
my assistant in the institutions with whose man- 
agement I was intrusted. There is a hospital 
and a soup-kitchen and an infirmary, and it 
makes a great deal to be done. So he became 
a man once more. I have tried to influence 
your step-mother too ; not because I was greedy 
for power. Perhaps you '11 think that of me. 
In short, the old tension between her and Marie 
has been slowly smoothed 1 away. Love and 
confidence have descended upon the house. 

MAGDA. 

[Staring at him.] And why did you do all 
this? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Well, first it is my calling. Then I did it 
for his sake, for I love the old man ; and above 
all — for — your sake. 

[Magda starts, and points to herself inter- 
rogatively.~] 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Yes, for your sake. For this weighed upon 
me : The day will come when she will turn 
homeward, — perhaps as victor ; but perhaps 
also as vanquished, broken and ruined in body 



Magda. 79 

and soul — Pardon me these thoughts, I had 
heard nothing of you — In either case she 
shall find a home ready for her. That was my 
work, the work of long years; and now I 
implore you not to destroy it. 

MAGDA. 

[In anguish.'] If you knew through what I 
have passed, you would not try to keep me. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

That is all shut out. This is home. Let it 
alone; forget it. 

MAGDA. 

How can I forget it? How dare I? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Why should you resist when all stretch their 
hands out to you in rejoicing? It 's very easy. 
Let your heart speak when you see all around 
overflowing with love for you. 

MAGDA. 

[In tears, ] You make me a child again. 
[A paused] 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Then you will stay? 

MAGDA. 

[Springing up.'] But they must not question 
me ! 



8o 



Magda. 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

Must not question you ? 

MAGDA. 

About my life outside there. They would n't 
understand, — none of them ; not even you. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Well, then, they sha'n't. 

MAGDA. 

And you will promise me, for yourself and 
for the others? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Yes, I can promise it. 

MAGDA. 

[In a stifled voiced Call them, then. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

[Opening the door on the leftJ] She will stay. 

Enter Marie; then Mrs. Schwartze, Fran- 
ziska, and Schwartze. Marie throws her- 
self joyfully into Magda's arms. Mrs. 
Schwartze also embraces her. 

SCHWARTZE. 

It was your duty, my child. 



Magda. 



81 



MAGDA. 

Yes, father. [She softly takes his right hand 
in both of hers, and carries it tenderly to her 
lips.'] 

FRANZISKA. 

Thank Heaven ! Now we can have supper 
at last ! [ Opens the sliding door into the dining- 
room. The supper-table is seen, all set, and 
lighted brightly by a green-shaded hanging- lamp, ,] 

MAGDA. 

[Gazing at it."] Oh, look ! The dear old 
lamp ! [The women go slowly out.~] 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Stretching out his hands. ] This is your 
greatest work, Pastor. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Oh, don't, I beg you ! And there 's a condi- 
tion attached. 

SCHWARTZE. 

A condition? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

We must not ask about her life* 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Startled^ What ? What ? I must not — 
6 



82 



Magda. 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

No, no ; you must not ask — you must not 
ask — or — [Struck by a new thought^ If 
you do not — yes — I am sure she will confess 
everything herself. 



Magda. 



83 



ACT III. 

Scene : the same. Morning. On the table at 
the left, coffee-service and flowers. 

[Mrs. Schwartze and Franziska discovered^ 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

[Excitedly.'] Thank Heaven, you Ve come. 
Such a time we 've had this morning ! 

franziska. 

So? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Just think, two people have come from the 
hotel, — a gentleman who looks like a lord, and 
a young lady like a princess. They 're her 
servants. 

FRANZISKA* 

What extravagance ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

And they 're calling and talking all over the 
house, and neither of them knows any Ger- 
man. And, her ladyship ordered a warm bath, 
that was not warm enough ; and a cold douche, 
which was not cold enough ; and spirits, 



84 Magda. 

which she simply poured out of the window; 
and toilet vinegar, which we did n't have at all. 

FRANZISKA. 

What demands ! And where is your famous 
young lady? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

After her bath she has gone back to bed 
again. 

FRANZISKA. 

I would not have such sloth in my house. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

I shall tell her so. For Leopold's sake — 
[Enter Theresa.] What do you want, Theresa? 

THERESA. 

Councillor von Keller — he has sent his ser- 
vant here to ask whether the Lieutenant has 
come yet, and what is the young lady's answer. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

What young lady? 

THERESA. 

That 's what I don't know. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Then just give our regards, and say that the 
Lieutenant has not come yet. 



Magda. 85 

FRANZISKA. 

He is on duty till twelve. After that he '11 
come. 

\Exit Theresa. As she opens the door, a great 
noise is heard in the hall, — a man's voice 
and a wo??iari > s disputing in Italian .] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Listen to that ! \_Speaking outside. ~\ Just 
you wait. Your Signora '11 be here soon. 
\_Shuts the door.~\ Ah ! And now, breakfast. 
What do you think she drinks? 

FRANZISKA. 

Why, coffee. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

No. 

FRANZISKA. 

Tea, then? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

No. 

FRANZISKA. 

Then it must be chocolate ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

No ; coffee and chocolate mixed. 

FRANZISKA. 

Horrible ! But it must be good. 



86 



Magda. 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

And yesterday half a dozen trunks came 
from the hotel, and as many more are still there. 
Ah, what there is in them all ! One whole 
trunk for hats ! A peignoir of real point, and 
open-work stockings with gold embroidery, and 
[in a whisper\ silk chemises — 

FRANZISKA. 

What? Silk — 

MRS, SCHWARTZE. 

Yes. 

FRANZISKA. 

[ With a gesture of horror :.] It is simply 
sinful. 

Enter Magda, in brilliant morning toilette, 
speaking outside as she opens the door. 

MAGDA. 

Ma che cosa volete vol ? Perchi non aspet- 
tate,finche vi commando? Ha? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Now they are getting their share ! 

MAGDA. 

No, no ; e tempo J [Shutting the door!\ Va, 
bruto ! Good-morning, mamma. [Kisses her.~] 
I 'm a late sleeper, eh? Ah, good-morning, 
Aunt Frankie. In a good humor ? So am I. 



Magda. 



87 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

What did the strange gentleman want, 

Magda ? 

MAGDA. 

Stupid beast ! He wanted to know when I 
was going away, the idiot ! How can I tell ? 
[Patting her.] Eh, mamma mia ? Oh, chil- 
dren, I slept like the dead. My ear on the pil- 
low, and off! And the douche was so nice and 
cold. I feel so strong. Allons, cousine / Hop ! 
[Seizes Franziska by the waist and jumps her 
into the air.] 

FRANZISKA. 

[Furiously.] What do you — 

MAGDA. 

[Haughtily.'] Eh? 

FRANZISKA. 

[Cringingly]. You are so facetious. 

MAGDA. 

Am I? [Clapping her hands.] Breakfast! 
Enter Marie, with a tray of coffee things. 

MARIE. 

Good-morning. 

FRANZISKA. 

Good-morning, my child. 



88 Magda. 



MAGDA. 

I 'm dying of hunger. Ah ! [Pats her stom- 
ach. Marie kisses Franziska's hand.] 

MAGDA. 

[Taking off the cover, with unction J] Deli- 
cious ! One would know Giulietta was in the 
house. 

FRANZISKA. 

She has made noise enough, at least. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, she couldn't live without a good row. 
And when she gets too excited, she quietly 
throws a plate at your head. I 'm accustomed 
to it. What is papa doing? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

He 's making his excuses to the members of 
the Committee. 

MAGDA. 

Is your life still half made up of excuses? 
What sort of a committee is it ? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

It 's the Christian Aid Society. They should 
have had a meeting here this morning in our 
house. Now we thought it would not do. It 
would look as if we wanted to introduce you. 



Magda. 89 



FRANZISKA. 

But, Augusta, now it will look as if your 
daughter were more important to you — 

MAGDA. 

Well, I hope she is ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Of course ! But — oh dear, you don't know 
what sort of people they are. They are de- 
serving of great respect. For instance, there 's 
Mrs. General von Klebs. [Proudly^ We are 
friends of hers. 

MAGDA. 

[With sham respect."] Really? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Now, they '11 probably come to-morrow. 
Then you '11 meet, besides, some other pious 
and aristocratic ladies whose patronage gains 
us a great deal of influence. I 'm curious to 
see how they '11 like you. 

MAGDA. 

How I shall like them, you should say. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Yes — that is — but we 're talking and 
talking — 

MARIE. 

[Jumping up. 2 Oh, excuse me, mamma. 



90 Magda. 

MAGDA. 

No, you must stay here. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, Magda ; but about your trunks at the 
hotel, — I am constantly on the rack for fear 
something should be left. 

MAGDA. 

Send for them, then, children. 

FRANZISKA. 

[Aside to Mrs. Schwartze.J Now I '11 ques- 
tion her thoroughly, Augusta. Leave us alone. 

[Exit Mrs. Schwartze. 

FRANZISKA. 

[Sitting down, with importance^ And now, 
my dear Magda, you must tell your old aunt all 
about it. 

MAGDA. 

Eh? Ah, look here, mamma needs help. 
Go on, quick ! Make yourself useful. 

FRANZISKA. 

[ Viciously. ~\ If you command it. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, I have only to request. 



Magda. 91 



FRANZISKA. 

[Rising.] It seems to me that your requests 
are somewhat forcible. 

MAGDA. 

[Laughing.'] Perhaps. 

[Exit Franziska in a rage. 

marie. 

Oh, Magda ! 

MAGDA. 

Yes, sweet. That 's the way to go through 
the world, — bend or break; that is, I never 
bend. It 's the only way. 

MARIE. 

Oh, good Heavens ! 

MAGDA. 

Poor child ! Yes, in this house one learns 
quite other views. I bent, myself, yesterday 
disgracefully. Ah, how nice our old mamma is ! 
[Earnestly, pointing to the mother's picture.] 
And she up there ! Do you remember her? 
[Marie shakes her head.] 

MAGDA. 

[Thoughtfully.] She died too soon ! Where 's 
papa? I want him. And yet I 'm afraid of him 
too. Now, child, while I eat my breakfast, now 
you must make your confession. 



g2 Magda. 

MARIE. 

Oh, I can't. 

MAGDA. 

Just show me the locket ! 

MARIE. 

There ! 

MAGDA. 

A lieutenant ! Naturally. With us it 's 
always a tenor. 

MARIE. 

Oh, Magda, it 's no joke. He is my fate. 

MAGDA. 

What is the name of this fate ? 

MARIE. 

It 's Cousin Max. 

MAGDA. 

[WhistksJ] Why don't you marry the good 
youth, then? 

MARIE. 

Aunt Frankie wants a better match for him, 
and so she won't give him the guaranty he 
needs. It 's abominable ! 

MAGDA. 

Si/ C est bete, ca / And how long have you 
loved each other? 



Magda. 93 



MARIE. 

I don't remember when we did not. 

MAGDA. 

And where does he meet you? 

MARIE. 

Here. 

MAGDA. 

I mean elsewhere — alone. 

MARIE. 

We are never alone together. I think this 
precaution we owe to our own self-respect. 

MAGDA. 

Come here — close — tell me the truth — 
has it never entered your mind to cast this 
whole network of precaution and respect away 
from you, and to go with the man you love out 
and away — anywhere — it does n't matter 
much — and as you lie quietly on his breast, to 
hurl back a scornful laugh at the whole world 
which has sunk behind you ? 

MARIE. 

No, Magda, I never feel so. 

MAGDA. 

But would you die for him? 



94 Magda. 

MARIE. 

\_Standing up with a gesture of enthusiasm^ 
I would die a thousand deaths for him ! 

MAGDA. 

My poor little darling ! [_Aside.~] They bring 
everything to naught. The most terrible of all 
passions becomes in their hands a mere re- 
signed defiance of death. 

MARIE. 

Whom are you speaking of? 

MAGDA. 

Nothing, nothing. See here, how large is 
this sum you need ? 

MARIE. 

Sixty thousand marks. 

MAGDA. 

When can you be married ? Must it be now, 
or will afternoon do ? 

MARIE. 

Don't mock me, Magda. 

MAGDA. 

You must give me time to telegraph. One 
can't carry so much money about with one. 



Magda. 95 



MARIE. 

[Slowly taking it in, and then, with an outburst 
of joy, throwing herself at Magda' 's feet."] Magda ! 

MAGDA. 

[After a silence .] Be happy, love your hus- 
band. And if you hold your first-born on your 
arm, in the face of the world [holding out her 
arms with angry emphasis'] — so, face to face, 
then think of one who — Ah ! some one 's 
coming. 

Enter Heffterdingt with a portfolio. 

MAGDA. 

[Crossing to him.] Oh, it's you. That's 
good. I wanted you. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

You wanted me? What for? 

MAGDA. 

Only — - 1 want to talk with you, holy man. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Is n't it good, Miss Magda, to be at home 
again? 

MAGDA. 

Oh, yes, except for the old aunt's sneaking 
about. 



9 6 



Magda. 



MARIE. 

[ Who is collecting the breakfast-things ; laugh- 
ing, but frightened^] Oh, Heavens, Magda ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Good-morning, Miss Marie. 

MARIE. 

Good-morning, Pastor. 

[Exit, with the table. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Heavens, how she beams ! 

MAGDA. 

She has reason. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Is n't your father here ? 

MAGDA. 

No. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Is n't he well ? 

MAGDA. 

I think so. I have n't seen him yet. Yester- 
day we sat together till late. I told him what 
I could tell. But I think he was very unhappy ; 
his eyes were always searching and probing. 
Oh, I fear your promise will be badly kept. 



Magda. 97 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

That seems like a reproach. I hope you 
don't regret — 

MAGDA. 

No, my friend, I don't regret it. But I feel 
very curiously. I seem to be in a tepid bath, 
I 'm so weak and warm. What they call Ger- 
man sentiment is awaking again, and I have 
been so unused to it. My heart seems like a 
Christmas number of the " Gartenlaube," — 
moonlight, betrothals, lieutenants, and I don't 
know what ! But the best of it is, I know that 
I'm playing with myself. I can cast it all off as 
a child throws away its doll, and be my old self 
again. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

That would be bad for us. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, don't be angry with me. I seem to be 
all torn and rooted up. And then I am so 
afraid — 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Of what? 

MAGDA. 

I can't — I can't be quite one of you. I am 
an intruder. [Aside, fearfully .~] If a spectre 
from without were to appear, this whole idyl 
would go up in flames. [Heffterdingt sup- 
presses a start of astonishment. ~\ And I 'm con- 
fined, hemmed in. I begin to be a coward. 
7 



9 8 



Magda. 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

I don't think one should be terrified at feel- 
ing filial love. 

MAGDA. 

Filial love? I should like to take that snow- 
white head in my lap and say, " You old child ! " 
And nevertheless I must bend my will, I must 
bend my will. I am not accustomed to that. 
I must conquer ; I must sing down opposition. 
I sing or I live, — for both are one and the 
same, — so that men must will as I do. I force 
them, I compel them to love and mourn and 
exult and lament as I do. And woe to him 
who resists ! I sing them down, — I sing and 
sing until they become slaves and playthings in 
my hands. I know I 'm confused, but you 
understand what I mean. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

To work the impress of one's own personal- 
ity, — that 's what you mean, is n't it ? 

MAGDA. 

Si, si, si, si I Oh, I could tell you everything. 
Your heart has tendrils which twine about other 
hearts and draw them out. And you don't do 
it selfishly. You don't know how mighty you 
are. The men outside there are beasts, whether 
in love or hate. But you are a man. And one 
feels like a man w r hen one is near you. Just 
think, when you came in yesterday, you seemed 



Magda. 



99 



to me so small ; but something grows out from 
you and becomes always greater, almost too 
great for me. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Good Heavens, what can it be? 

MAGDA. 

What shall I call it, — self-sacrifice, self- 
abnegation ? It is something with self — or 
rather the reverse. That is what impresses me. 
And that is why you can do so much with me. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

How strange ! 

MAGDA. 

What? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I must own it to you — it is — it is nonsense ; 
but since I have seen you again, a sort of long- 
ing has awakened within me to be like you. 

MAGDA. 

Ha, ha ! You, model of men ! Like me ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I have had to stifle much in my nature. My 
peace is the peace of the dead. And as you 
stood before me yesterday in your freshness, 
your natural strength, your — your greatness, I 
said to myself, " That is what you might have 
been if at the right moment joy had entered 
into your life." 



IOO 



Magda. 



MAGDA. 

\In a whisper."] And one thing more, my 
friend, — sin ! We must sin if we wish to 
grow. To become greater than our sins is 
worth more than all the purity you preach. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

[Impressed.] That would be 

outside.] 

MAGDA. 

[Starting and listening?] 'Sh ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

What 's the matter? 

MAGDA. 

Nothing, it 's only my stupid nervousness ; 
not on my own account, believe me, only out 
of pity for all these. We shall still be friends? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

As long as you need me. 

MAGDA. 

And when I cease to need you? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 



[ Voices 



There will be no change in me, Miss Magda. 
\As he is going, he meets Schwartze in the 
doorway.'] 



Magda. 101 



Enter Schwartze. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Good-morning, my dear pastor ! Will you 
go out on the porch for a moment? I will 
follow you. [Exit Heffterdingt.] Now, did 
you sleep well, my child ? [Kisses her on the 
forehead r .] 

MAGDA. 

Finely. In my old room I found the old 
sleep of childhood. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Had you lost it ? 

MAGDA. 

Have n't you ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

They say a good conscience — Come to 
me, my child. 

MAGDA. 

Gladly, papa ! No, let me sit at your feet. 
There I can see your beautiful white beard. 
When I look at it, I always think of Christmas 
eve and a quiet snow-covered field. 

SCHWARTZE. 

My child, you know how to say pretty 
things. When you speak, one seems to see 
pictures about one. Here we are not so clever ; 
that is why we have nothing to conceal here. 



102 Magda. 



MAGDA. 

We also — But speak quietly, papa. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, I must. You know what agreement 
you made with the pastor. 

MAGDA. 

Which you will keep? 

SCHWARTZE. 

I am accustomed to keep to what I have 
promised. But you must see that the suspicion 
— whatever I may do, the suspicion weighs like 
a mountain — 

MAGDA. 

What do you suspect? 

SCHWARTZE. 

I don't know. You have appeared among 
us as wonderfully as gloriously. But brilliance 
and worldly honor and all that don't blind a 
father's eyes. You seem to be warm at heart 
too. At least, one would think so to hear you 
speak. But there is something in your eyes 
which does not please me, and a scornful curl 
about your lips. 

MAGDA. 

Dear, good old papa ! 



Magda. 103 



SCHWARTZE. 

You see ! This tenderness is not that of a 
daughter towards her father. It is so that one 
pets a child, whether it be a young or an old 
one. And although I 'm only a poor soldier, 
lame and disabled, I demand your respect, my 
child. 

MAGDA. 

I have never withheld it. [RisingJ\ 

SCHWARTZE. 

That is good, that is good, my daughter. 
Believe me, we are not so simple as we may 
appear to you. We have eyes to see, and ears 
to hear, that the spirit of moral revolt is abroad 
in the world. The seed which should take 
root in the heart, begins to decay. What were 
once sins easily become customs to you, My 
child, soon you will go away. When you re- 
turn, you may find me in the grave. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, no, papa ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

It 's in God's hand. But I implore you — 
Come here, my child — nearer — so — \He 
draws her down to him, and takes her head 
between his hands .] I implore you — let me 
be happy in my dying hour. Tell me that you 
have remained pure in body and soul, and then 
go with my blessing on your way. 



104 Magda. 

MAGDA. 

I have remained — true to myself, dear 
father. 

SCHWARTZE. 

How? In good or in ill? 

MAGDA. 

In what — for me — was good. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Blankly, ,] In what — for you — then? 

MAGDA. 

[Rising."] And now don't worry any more. 
Let me enjoy these few days quietly. They will 
be over soon enough. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Broodingly.] I love you with my whole 
heart, because I have sorrowed for you — so 
long. [Threateningly, rising."] But I must 
know who you are. 

MAGDA. 

Father dear — [Bell rings. Mrs. Schwartzs 
bursts in.] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Just think ! the ladies of the Committee are 
here ! They want to congratulate us in person. 
Do you think we ought to offer them coffee, 
Leopold ? 



Magda. 105 

SCHWARTZE. 

I will go into the garden, Augusta. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

For Heaven's sake — they 're just coming — 
you must receive their congratulations. 

SCHWARTZE. 

I can't — no — I can't do it ! [Exit, left. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

What is the matter with your father? 

Enter Mrs. General von Klebs, Mrs. Justice 
Ellrich, Mrs. Schumann, and Franziska. 

FRANZISKA. 

[As she opens the door.~] My dear, the 
ladies — 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

[Giving her hand to Mrs. Schwartze.] 
What a day for you, my dear ! The whole 
town rejoices in the happy event. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Permit me — my daughter — Mrs. General 
von Klebs, Mrs. Justice Ellrich, Mrs. Schumann. 

MRS. SCHUMANN. 

I am only the wife of a simple merchant ; 
but — 



106 Magda. 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

My husband will do himself the honor 
soon — 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Won't you sit down, ladies? \They sit.~] 

FRANZISKa. 

\_With aplomb .] Yes, it is truly a joyful 
event for the whole family. 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

We have unfortunately not shared the pleas- 
ures of the festival, my dear young lady. I must 
therefore refrain from expressing that admira- 
tion to which you are so well accustomed. 

MRS. SCHUMANN. 

If we had known, we should certainly have 
ordered tickets. 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

Do you expect to remain here for very long? 

MAGDA. 

That I really cannot say, madam — or, par- 
don me — your ladyship ? 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

I must beg you — no. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, pardon me ! 



Magda. 107 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

Oh, please ! 

MAGDA. 

We are such birds of passage, my dear 
madam, that we can really never plan for the 
future. 

MRS. ELLRICH. 

But one must have one's real home. 

MAGDA. 

Why? One must have a vocation. That 
seems to me enough. 

FRANZISKA. 

It 's all in the point of view, dear Magda. 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

Ah, we 're so far removed from all these 
ideas, my dear young lady. Every now and 
then some person gives lectures here, but the 
good families have nothing to do with it. 

MAGDA. 

\_PolitelyJ] Oh, I can quite understand that. 
The good families need nothing, as they have 
plenty to eat. [A silence .] 

MRS. ELLRICH. 

But at least you must have some residence ? 



108 Magda. 

MAGDA. 

If you call it so, — a place to sleep. Yes, I 
have a villa by the Lake of Como and an estate 
at Naples. [Sensation.] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

But you Ve said nothing to us about that. 

MAGDA. 

I hardly ever make use of them, mamma 
dear. 

MRS. ELLRICH. 

Art must be a very trying occupation ? 

MAGDA. 

[In a friendly toneJ] It depends upon how 
one follows it, my dear madam. 

MRS. ELLRICH. 

My daughter used to take singing-lessons, 
and it always taxed her very much. 

MAGDA. 

[Politely, ] Oh, I 'm sorry for that. 

MRS. ELLRICH. 

Naturally, you only do it for pleasure. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, it 's so much pleasure ! [Aside to Mrs. 
Schwartze, who sits near her.~\ Get these 
women away, or I shall be rude ! 



Magda. 109 



MRS. VON KLEBS. 

Are you really engaged by a theatre, my dear 
young lady? 

MAGDA. 

[ Very sweetly .] Sometimes, my dear madam. 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

Then you are out of an engagement at 
present ? 

MAGDA. 

[Murmurs.] Oh, come, come ! [Aloud.] Yes, 
I 'm a vagabond now. [The ladies look at each 
other."] 

MRS. VON KLEBS. 

There are really not many daughters of good 
families on the stage, are there ? 

MAGDA. 

[In a friendly tone.] No, my dear madam ; 
most of them are too stupid. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Oh, Magda ! 

Enter Max. 
magda. 

Oh, that must be Max ! [ Goes to him and 
shakes hands.] Just think, I had quite forgot- 
ten your face. We were great friends, were we 
rxot? 



no Magda. 

MAX. 

Were we? [Astonished.] 

MAGDA. 

Well, we can begin now. 

MRS. ELLRICH. 

[Aside.] Do you understand this? 

[Mrs. von Klebs shrugs her shoulder. Ihe 
ladies rise and take their leave, shaking 
hands with Mrs. Schwartze and Fran- 
ziska, and bowing to Magda.] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

[Confused^] Must you go already, ladies? 
My husband will be so sorry — 

MAGDA. 

[Coolly.'] Au revoir, ladies, au revoir ! 
[Exit the ladies in the order of their rank. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

[Turning back from the door.] Mrs. von 
Klebs was offended, or she would have stayed. 
Magda, you certainly must have offended Mrs. 
von Klebs. 

FRANZISKA. 

And the other ladies, too, were hurt. 

MAGDA. 

Mamma dear, won't you see about my trmik? 



Magda. 1 1 1 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, yes, I '11 go to the hotel myself. Oh 
dear, oh dear, oh dear ! . [Exit. 

FRANZISKA. 

Wait, I 'm coming too. [Spitefully.'] I must 
make myself useful, of course ! 

MAGDA. 

Oh, Aunt Frankie, a word with you. 

FRANZISKA. 

Now? 

MAGDA. 

We 're going to celebrate a betrothal to-day. 

FRANZISKA. 

What betrothal ? 

MAGDA. 

Between him and Marie. 

MAX. 

{Joyfully.] Magda ! 

FRANZISKA. 

I think, as I occupy a mother's position 
towards him, that it is my right — 

MAGDA. 

No ; the giver alone has rights, my dear aunt, 
And now don't fail. 



H2 Magda. 

FRANZISKA. 

IFunouslyJ] I will make you — \Exit. 

MAX. 

How shall I thank you, my dear Miss — 

MAGDA. 

Magda, my dear cousin, Magda ! 

MAX. 

Pardon me, it was my great respect — 

MAGDA. 

Not so much respect, my boy, — I don't like 
it ; more weight, more individuality ! 

MAX. 

Ah, my dear cousin, should a young lieu- 
tenant with twenty-five marks' pay, not to speak 
of debts, have individuality ? It would only be 
a hindrance to him. 

MAGDA. 

Ah! 

MAX. 

If I manage my men properly, and dance a 
correct figure at our regimental balls, and am 
not a coward, that is enough. 

MAGDA. 

To make a wife happy, certainly. Go and 
find her. Go along ! 



Magda. 113 



MAX. 

[Starts to go, and turns back."] Oh, excuse 
me, in my happiness I entirely forgot the mes- 
sage I — Early this morning — by-the-by, you 
can't think what a tumult the whole city is in 
about you — well, early this morning — I was 
still in bed — an acquaintance came in who is 
also an old acquaintance of yours, very pale 
from excitement, and he asked whether it were 
all true, and if he might come to see you. 

MAGDA. 

Yes, let him come. 

MAX. 

He wanted me to ask you first. He would 
then send in his card this morning. 

MAGDA. 

What formalities the men go through here ! 
Who is he ? 

MAX. 

Councillor von Kellen 

MAGDA. 

[Speaking with difficulty.'] He — what? — 
he? 

MAX. 

[Laughing.'] Pardon me, but you 're as 
white now as he was. 

8 



H4 Magda. 

MAGDA. 

\_Quietly.~\ I? White? 

Enter Theresa with a card. 
max. 

Here he is. Dr. von Keller. 

MAGDA. 

Let him come up. 

MAX. 

[Smiling."] I '11 only say to you, my dear 
cousin, that he 's a very important man, who 
has a great career before him, and promises to 
be a pillar of our religious circle. 

MAGDA. 

Thank you ! 

Enter Von Keller with a bouquet 

MAX. 

[Crossing to him.'] My dear Councillor, 
here is my cousin, who is delighted to see you. 
You will excuse me. 

[Exit, with a bow to each. 
[Von Keller remains standing at the door. 
Magda moves about nervously. Silenced] 

MAGDA. 

[Aside.] Here is my spectre ! [Indicates 
a seat at the table, left, and sits down opposite^] 



Magda. 



"5 



VON KELLER. 

First, you must allow me to express my 
warmest and most sincere good wishes. This 
is a surprise which you happily could not have 
expected. And as a sign of my interest, allow 
me, my dearest friend, to present you with 
these modest flowers. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, how thoughtful ! [ Takes the flowers with 
a laugh, and throws them on the table. ~\ 

VON KELLER. 

[In embarrassment.'] I — I see with sorrow 
that you resent this approach on my part. 
Have I in any way been wanting in the neces- 
sary delicacy? In these narrow circles a meet- 
ing could not have been avoided. I think it is 
better, my dearest friend, that we should come 
to an understanding, — that we should know 
the relations — 

MAGDA. 

[Rising?] You 're right, my friend. I was 
not at the height of my own nature just now. 
Had I been, I might have played the deserted 
Marguerite to the end. The morals of home 
had infected me a little. But I am myself 
again. Give me your hand bravely. Don't be 
afraid, I won't harm you. So — tight — so ! 

VON KELLER. 

You make me happy. 



1 1 6 Magda. 



MAGDA. 

I Ve painted this meeting to myself a thousand 
times, and have been prepared for it for years. 
Something warned me, too, when I undertook 
this journey home — though I must say I hardly 
expected just here to — Yes, how is it that, after 
what has passed between us, you came into this 
house ? It seems to me a little — 

VON KELLER. 

I tried to avoid it until quite recently ; but 
since we belong to the same circles, and since I 
agree with the views of this family — that is, at 
least in theory — 

MAGDA. 

Yes, yes. Let me look at you, my poor friend. 
How you have changed ! 

VON KELLER. 

\Laughing netvously j] I seem to have the 
misfortune to make a rather absurd figure in 
your eyes. 

MAGDA. 

No, oh, no ! I can see it all. The effort to 
keep worthy of respect under such difficulties, 
with a bad conscience, is awkward. You look 
down from the height of your pure atmosphere 
on your sinful youth, — for you are called a 
pillar, my dear friend. 



Magda. 117 



VON KELLER. 

[Looking at the door.] Pardon me — I can 
hardly accustom myself again to the affection- 
ate terms. And if any one should hear us — - 
Would it not be better — 

MAGDA. 

[Sadly."] Let them hear us. 

VON KELLER. 

[At the door.] Good Heavens ! Well [sitting 
down again] , as I was saying, if you knew with 
what real longing I look back from this height 
at my gay, discarded youth — 

MAGDA. 

[Half to herself.] So gay, — yes, so gay. 

VON KELLER. 

Well, I felt myself called to higher things. 
I thought — Why should I undervalue my 
position? I have become Councillor, and that 
comparatively young. An ordinary ambition 
might take satisfaction in that. But one sits and 
waits at home, while others are called to the 
ministry. And this environment, conventionality, 
and narrowness, all is so gray, — gray ! And 
the ladies here — for one who cares at all about 
elegance — I assure you something rejoiced 
within me when I read this morning that you 
were the famous singer, — you to whom I was 
tied by so many dear memories and — 



1 1 8 Magda. 



MAGDA. 

And then you thought whether it might not 
be possible with the help of these dear memories 
to bring a little color into the gray background ? 

VON KELLER. 

[Smiling.'] Oh, pray don't — 

MAGDA. 

Well, between old friends — 

VON KELLER. 

Really, are we that, really? 

. MAGDA. 

Certainly, sans rancune. Oh, if I took it 
from the other standpoint, I should have to range 
the whole gamut, — liar, coward, traitor ! But 
as I look at it, I owe you nothing but thanks, 
my friend. 

VON KELLER. 

\_Pleased } but confused.'] This is a view which — 

MAGDA. 

Which is very convenient for you. But why 
should I not make it convenient for you ? In 
the manner in which we met, you had no obli- 
gations towards me. I had left my home ; I was 
young and innocent, hot-blooded and careless, 
and I lived as I saw others live. I gave myself 
to you because I loved you. I might perhaps 



Magda. 



119 



have loved any one who came in my way. That 
— that seemed to be all over. And we were so 
happy, — were n't we ? 

VON KELLER. 

Ah, when I think of it, my heart seems to 
stop beating. 

MAGDA. 

There in the old attic, five flights up, we three 
girls lived so merrily in our poverty. Two hired 
pianos, and in the evening bread and dripping. 
Emmy used to warm it herself over the oil-stove. 

VON KELLER. 

And Katie with her verses ! Good Lord ! 
What has become of them? 

MAGDA. 

Chi lo sa ? Perhaps they 're giving singing- 
lessons, perhaps they 're on the stage. Yes, 
we were a merry set ; and when the fun had 
lasted half a year, one day my lover vanished. 

von keller; 

An unlucky chance, I swear to you. My 
father was ill. I had to travel. I wrote every- 
thing to you. 

MAGDA. 

H'm ! I did not reproach you. And now I 
will tell you why I owe you thanks. I was a 
stupid, unsuspecting thing, enjoying freedom like 
a runaway monkey. Through you I became a 



Magda. 



woman. For whatever I have done in my art, 
for whatever I have become in myself, I have 
you to thank. My soul was like ■ — yes, down 
below there, there used to be an ^Eolian harp 
which was left mouldering because my father 
could not bear it. Such a silent harp was my 
soul ; and through you it was given to the storm. 
And it sounded almost to breaking, — the whole 
scale of passions which bring us women to 
maturity, — love and hate and revenge and ambi- 
tion [springing up\ and need, need, need — 
three times need — and the highest, the strong- 
est, the holiest of all, the mother's love ! — 
All I owe to you ! 

VON KELLER. 

What — what do you say? 

MAGDA. 

Yes, my friend, you have asked after Emmy 
and Katie. But you have n't asked after your 
child. 

VON KELLER. 

[jumping up and looking about anxiously. ~\ 
My child ! 

MAGDA. 

Your child ? Who calls it so ? Yours ? Ha, 
ha ! Dare to claim portion in him and I '11 kill 
you with these hands. Who are you ? You 're 
a strange man who gratified his lust and passed 
on with a laugh. But I have a child, — my son, 
my God, my all ! For him I lived and starved and 



Magda. 



121 



froze and walked the streets ; for him I sang and 
danced in concert-halls, — for my child who was 
crying for his bread ! [Breaks out in a convulsive 
laugh which changes to weeping, and throws 
herself on a seat, right.'] 

VON KELLER. 

[After a silence.'] I am confounded. If I 
could have suspected, — yes, if I could have sus- 
pected — I will do everything ; I will not shrink 
from any reparation. But now, I beg you to 
quiet yourself. They know that I am here. If 
they saw us so, I should be — [correcting 
himself] you would be lost. 

MAGDA. 

Don't be afraid. I won't compromise you. 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, I was not speaking for myself, not at all. 
But just think, if it were to come out, what the 
town and your father — 

MAGDA. 

Poor old man ! His peace is destroyed, at 
any rate. 

VON KELLER. 

And think ! the more brilliantly you are placed 
now, the more certain is your ruin. 

MAGDA. 



[Madly.] And if I wish for ruin ! If I — 



122 Magda. 



VON KELLER. 

For Heaven's sake, hush ! some one 's coming. 

MAGDA. 

[Springing up.~] Let them come ! Let them 
all come ! I don't care, I don't care ! To 
their faces I '11 say what I think of you, — of you 
and your respectable society. Why should I be 
worse than you, that I must prolong my existence 
among you by a lie ! Why should this gold upon 
my body, and the lustre which surrounds my 
name, only increase my infamy? Have I not 
worked early and late for ten long years ? Have 
I not woven this dress with sleepless nights? 
Have I not built up my career step by step, like 
thousands of my kind ? Why should I blush 
before any one ? I am myself, and through my- 
self I have become what I am. 

VON KELLER. 

Good ! You may stand there proudly, but 
you might at least consider — 

MAGDA. 

Whom? [As he is silent."] Whom? The pil- 
lar ! Ha, ha ! The pillar begins to totter ! Be 
easy, my dear friend. I am not revengeful. 
But when I look at you in all your cowardly 
dignity — unwilling to take upon you the slight- 
est consequence of your doings, and contrast 
you with myself, who sank through your love to 
be a pariah and an outcast — Ah, I 'm ashamed 
of you. Pah ! 



Magda. 123 

VON KELLER. 

For Heaven's sake ! Your father ! If he 
should see you like this ! 

MAGDA. 

[/« agony."] My father ! [Escapes through 
the do 07' of the dining-room, with her handker- 
chief to her face.~] 

Enter Schwartze, happy and excited, through 
the hall- do or. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Ah, my dear Councillor — was that my 
daughter who just disappeared? 

VON KELLER. 

\Jn great embarrassment^] Yes, it was — 

SCHWARTZE. 

Why should she run away from me ? Magda ! 

VON KELLER. 

[Trying to block his path.] Had you not 
better — The young lady wished to be alone 
for a little ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Now? Why? When one has visitors, one 
does not — Why should she — 

VON KELLER. 

She was a little — agitated. 



124 Magda. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Agitated? 

VON KELLER. 

Yes ; that 's all. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Who has been here ? 

VON KELLER. 

No one. At least, as far as I know. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Then, what agitating things could you two 
have to talk about? 

VON KELLER. 

Nothing of importance, — nothing at all, I 
assure you. 

SCHWARTZE. 

What makes you look so, then? You can 
scarcely stand. 

VON KELLER. 

I ? Oh, you 're mistaken, you 're mistaken. 

SCHWARTZE. 

One question, Councillor — You and my 
daughter — Please sit down. 

VON KELLER. 

My time is unfortunately — 



Magda. 125 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Almost threatening.) I beg you to sit down. 

VON KELLER. 

[Not daring to resist.) Thank you. \They 
sit!) 

SCHWARTZE. 

You met my daughter some years ago in 
Berlin? 

VON KELLER. 

Yes. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Councillor von Keller, I know you to be as 
discreet as you are sensible ; but there are cases 
in which silence is a crime. I ask you — and 
your life-long relations with me give me the 
right to ask, as well as the mystery — which 
just now — In short, I ask you, Do you know 
anything discreditable about my daughters life 
there ? 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, for Heaven's sake, how can you — 

SCHWARTZE. 

Do you not know how and where she lived ? 

VON KELLER. 

No. I am absolutely — 

SCHWARTZE. 

Have you never visited at her house ? 



126 



Magda. 



VON KELLER. 

\_More and more confused^ No, no, never, 
never. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Not once ? 

VON KELLER. 

Well, I called on her once ; but — 

SCHWARTZE. 

Your relations were friendly ? 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, entirely friendly — of course, only friendly. 
[A pause.'] 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Passes his hand over his forehead, looks 
earnestly at Von Keller; then, speaking ab- 
sently^ So ? Then, honestly — if it might be — 
if — if — [Gets up, goes to Von Keller, and 
sits down again, trying to quiet himself, ,] Dr. 
von Keller, we both live in a quiet world, where 
scandals are unknown. But I have grown old, 
very old. And therefore I can't — can't control 
my thoughts as I should. And I can't rid my- 
self of an idea which has — - suddenly — taken 
possession of me. I have just had a great joy 
which I don't want to be embittered. But, to 
quiet an old man, I beg you — give me your 
word of honor that — - 



Magda. 127 

VON KELLER. 

[Rising. .] Pardon me, this seems almost 
like a cross-examination. 

SCHWARTZE. 

You must know, then, what I — 

VON KELLER. 

Pardon me, I wish to know nothing. I came 
here innocently to make a friendly visit, and you 
have taken me by surprise. I will not be taken 
by surprise. [Takes his hat~] 

SCHWARTZE. 

Dr. von Keller, have you thought what this 
refusal means? 

VON KELLER. 

Pardon me, if you wish to know anything, I 
beg you to ask your daughter. She will tell # 
you what — what — And now you must let 
me go. You know where I live. In case — 
I am very sorry it has happened so : but — 
Good- day, Colonel ! [Exit. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[After brooding for a tinie.~] Magda ! 

MARIE. 

[Running in anxiously."] For Heaven's 
sake, what's the matter? 



128 Magda. 

SCHWARTZE. 

1_ Chokingly.'] Magda, — I want Magda. 

MARIE. 

[ Goes to the door and opens it.] She 's com- 
ing now — down the stairs. 

SCHWARTZE. 

So ! [Pulls himself together with an effort.~] 

MARIE. 

[ Clasping her hands."] Don't hurt her ! 
[Pauses with the door open. Magda is seen 
descending the stairs. She enters in travelling- 
dress, hat in hand, very pale, but calm.] 

magda. 
I heard you call, father. 

SCHWARTZE. 

I have something to say to you. 

MAGDA. 

And I to you. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Go in — into my room. 

MAGDA. 

Yes, father. [She goes to the door, left. 
Schwartze follows her. Marie, who has drawn 
back frightened to the dini?ig-room door s makes 
an unseen gesture of entreaty.] 



Magda. 



129 



ACT IV. 

Scene : the same. 

[Mrs. Schwartze and Marie discovered. Mrs. 
Schwartze, in hat and cloak, is knocking 
on the door at the left.] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Leopold ! Oh, Heaven, I dare not go in. 
marie. 

No, no, don't ! Oh, if you 'd only seen his 
face ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

And they Ve been in there half an hour, you 
say? 

MARIE. 

Longer, longer ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Now she *s speaking ! [Listening, frightened."] 
He 's threatening her. Marie, Marie ! Run into 
the garden. The pastor 's there, in the arbor. 
Tell him everything, — about Mr. von Keller's 
being here, — and ask him to come in quickly. 

MARIE. 

Yes, mamma. [Hurries to the hall-door.] 
9 



130 



Magda. 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Wait a minute, Marie. Has Theresa heard 
anything? If it should get about — 

MARIE. 

I Ve already sent her away, mamma. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

That 's right, that 's right. [Exit Marie. 
Mrs. Schwartze knocks again,'] Leopold ! listen 
to me, Leopold ! [Retreating."] Oh, Heaven ! 
he 's coming ! [Enter Schwartze, bent and 
tottering^] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE » 

How do you feel, Leopold ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Sinking into a chair.] Yes, yes, — just 
like the roses. The knife comes, and cuts the 
stem, and the wound can never be healed. 
What am I saying? What? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

He 's out of his mind. 

SCHWARTZE. 

No, no, I 'm not out of my mind. I know 
quite well — [Magda appears at the door, left] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

What have you done to him? 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, what have you — what have you ? That 
is my daughter. What shall I do with my 
daughter now? 

MAGDA. 

[Humbly, almost beseechingly 7\ Father, is n't 
it best, after what has happened, that you 
should let me go, — that you should drive me 
into the streets? You must get free of me if 
this house is to be pure again. 

SCHWARTZE. 

So, so, so ! You think, then, you have only 
to go — to go away, out there, and all will be 
as before? And we? What will become of 
us ? I — good God ! — I — I have one foot 
in the grave — soon it will be over — but the 
mother, and your sister — your sister. 

MAGDA. 

Marie has the husband she wants — 

SCHWARTZE. 

No one will marry a sister of yours. [ With 
aversion^ No, no. Don't think it ! 

MAGDA. 

[Aside.'] My God ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

[To Mrs. Schwartze.] See, she's begin- 
ning now to realize what she has done. 



132 



Magda. 



MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Yes ; what — 

MAGDA. 

\_In tender sympathy, but still with a tinge oj 
superiority. ,] My poor old father — listen to 
me — I can't change what has passed. I will 
give Marie half my fortune. I will make up a 
thousand times all that I have made you suffer 
to-day. But now, I implore you, let me go my 
way. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Oho! 

MAGDA. 

What do you want of me ? What am I to 
you? Yesterday at this time you did not know 
even whether I still lived ; and to-day — It is 
madness to demand that I should think and 
feel again as you do ; but I am afraid of you, 
father, I 'm afraid of you all — ah, I am not 
myself — [Breaking out in torment] I can- 
not bear the sorrow. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Ha, ha ! 

MAGDA. 

Father dear, I will humble myself before you 
willingly. I lament with my whole heart that 
I Ve brought sorrow to you to-day, for my flesh 
and blood still belong to you. But I must 
live out my own life. That I owe to myself, — • 
to myself and mine. Good-by ! 



Magda. 133 



SCHVVARTZE. 

[Stopping her."] Where are you going? 

MAGDA. 

Let me pass, father. 

SCHWARTZE. 

I '11 kill you first. [Seizes her.'] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Leopold ! [Enter Heffterdingt. He throws 
himself between them with a cry of horror, 
Magda, freed by the old man, goes slowly back, 
with her eyes fixed on the Pastor, to the seat, 
left, where she remains motionless^ 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

[After a silence^ In God's name ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, yes, yes, Pastor — it made a fine family 
group, eh? Look at her ! She has soiled my 
name. Any scoundrel can break my sword. 
That is my daughter ; that is — 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Dear Colonel, these are things which I do 
not understand, and which I do not care to 
understand. But it seems to me there must be 
something to do, instead of — 



1-34 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

Yes, to do, — yes, yes, — there 's much to do 
here. I have much to do. I don't see why 
I 'm standing here. The worst of it is — the 
worst of it is, he can say to me - — this man — you 
are a cripple — with your shaking hand — with 
such a one I can't fight, even if I have had 
your daughter for a — But I will show him — 
I will show him — Where is my hat ? 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

Where are you going, Leopold? [Magda 
rises.~] 

SCHWARTZE. 

My hat ! 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

[Gives him hat and stick.~\ Here, here ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

So ! [To Magda.] Learn to thank the God, 
in whom you disbelieve, that he has preserved 
your father until this hour, for he shall bring you 
back your honor ! 

MAGDA. 

[Kneeling, and kissing his hand.~\ Don't do 
it, father ! I don't deserve this of you. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Bends weeping over her head.~] My poor, 
poor child ! 



Magda. 135 



MAGDA. 



[Calling after him.~\ Father ! 

[Exit Schwartze quickly. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

My child, whatever happens, we women — 
we must hold together. 

MAGDA. 

Thanks, mamma. The play will soon be 
played out now. 

HEFFTERDINGT, 

My dear Mrs. Schwartze, Marie is out there, 
full of sorrow. Go and say a kind word to her. 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

What shall I say to comfort her, when all the 
happiness has gone out of her life? [Magda 
jumps up in anguish.] Oh, Pastor, Pastor ! 

[Exit 

MAGDA. 

[After a silence. ~\ Oh, I am so tired ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Miss Magda ! 

MAGDA. 

[Brooding^ I think I shall see those glar- 
ing bloodshot eyes before me always — wher- 
ever I go. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Miss Magda ! 



136 Magda. 



MAGDA. 

How you must despise me ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Ah, Miss Magda, I have long been a stranger 
to despite. We are all poor sinners — 

MAGDA. 

[ With a bitter laugh J] Truly we are — Oh, 
I am so tired ! — it is crushing me. There is that 
old man going out to let himself be shot dead 
for my sake, as if he could atone for all my sins 
with his single life ! Oh, I am so tired ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Miss Magda — I can only conjecture — what 
all this means — but you have given me the 
right to speak to you as a friend. And I feel 
that I am even more. I am your fellow-sinner, 

Miss Magda ! 

MAGDA. 

Good Heavens ! Still harping on that ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Do you feel the obligation, Miss Magda, to 
bring honor and peace back to this house ? 

MAGDA. 

^Breaking out in anguish.^ You have lived 
through the sorrow, and ask whether I feel it ? 



Magda. 137 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

I think your father will obtain from that gen- 
tleman the declaration that he is ready for any 
sort of peaceable satisfaction. 

MAGDA. 

Ha, ha ! The noble soul ! But what can I 
do? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

You can — not spurn the hand which he will 
offer you. 

MAGDA. 

What? You don't mean — This man — 
this strange man whom I despise — how, how 
could I — 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Dear Miss Magda, there comes an hour to 
almost every man when he collects the broken 
pieces of his life, to form them together into a 
new design. I have found it so with myself. 
And now it is your turn. 

MAGDA. 

I will not do it — I will not do it, 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

You will have to. 

MAGDA. 

I would rather take my child in my arms and 
throw myself into the sea. 



Magda. 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

^Suppresses a violent start ; continues after 
a silence, hoarsely.'] Of course, that is the sim- 
plest solution. And your father can follow you. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, have pity on me ! I must do whatever 
you demand. I don't know how you have 
gained such power over me. Oh, man, if the 
slightest memory of what you once felt, if the 
least pity for your own youth, still lives within 
you, you cannot sacrifice me so ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I do not sacrifice you alone, Miss Magda. 

MAGDA. 

[ With awakening perception.] Good God ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

There 's no other way. I see none. You 
know yourself that the old man would not sur- 
vive it. And what would become of your 
mother, and what would become of your poor 
sister? Miss Magda, it is as if with your own 
hand you set fire to the house and let every- 
thing burn that is within. And this house is 
still your home — 

MAGDA. 

\In growing agony.] I will not, I will not. 
This house is not my home. My home is with 
my child ! 



Magda. 



139 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

This child, too. He will grow up fatherless, 
and will be asked, "Where is your father?" 
He will come and ask you, " Where is my 
father?" What can you answer him? And, 
Miss Magda, he who has not peace in his heart 
from the beginning will never win it in the end. 

MAGDA. 

All this is not true, and if it were true, have 
I not a heart too? Have I not a life to live 
also? Have I not a right to seek my own 
happiness ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

\_Harshly.] No ; no one has that. But do 
as you will. Ruin your home, ruin your father 
and sister and child, and then see what heart 
you have to seek your own happiness. [Magda 
bows her head, sobbing. The Pastor crosses to 
her, and leans over the table pityingly, with his 
hand on her hair.'] My poor — 

MAGDA. 

\_Seizing his hand.] Answer me one ques- 
tion. You have sacrificed your life for my sake. 
Do you think, to-day, in spite of what you know 
and what you do not know, do you think that I 
am worth this sacrifice ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

[ Cons trained, as if making a confession."] I 
have said already I am your fellow- sinner, Miss 
Magda. 



140 Magda. 

MAGDA. 

[After a paused I will do what you demand. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I thank you. 

MAGDA. 

Good-by. 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Good-by. [Exit He is seen through the 
open door speaking to Marie and sending her in. 
Magda remains motionless, with her face in her 
hands until he has gone. 

Enter Marie. 

marie. 

What can I do, Magda? 

MAGDA. 

Where has the pastor gone ? 

marie. 

Into the garden. Mamma is with him. 

MAGDA. 

If father asks for me, say I shall wait there. 

[Nods towards left~\ 

MARIE. 

And have n't you a word for me, Magda? 



Magda. 



MAGDA. 

Oh, yes. Fear nothing. [Kisses her on the 
forehead.~\ Everything will come out well, so 
well — no, no, no. [In weary bitterness.^ 
Everything will come out quite well. [Exit, left 
Marie goes into the dining-room .] 

Enter Schwartze. He takes out a pistol-case 
and opens it. Takes a pistol, cocks it with 
difficulty, examines the barrel, and aims at 
a point on the wall. His arm trembles 
violently. He strikes it angrily, and lets 
the pistol sink. Enter Max. 

SCHWARTZE. 

[ Without turning^ Who 's there ? 

MAX. 

It 's I, uncle. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Max ? Ah, you may come in. 

MAX. 

Uncle, Marie told me — What are the pis- 
tols for, uncle? 

SCHWARTZE. 

Ah, they used to be fine pistols, — beautiful 
pistols. See, boy, with this I have hit the ace 
of hearts at twenty paces, or say fifteen. And 
fifteen would be enough. We ought to have 
been in the garden already, but — but [help- 



142 Magda. 



kssly touches his trembling arm , almost in tears'] 
— but I can nevermore — 

MAX. 

[Hurrying to him. "\ Uncle? [They embrace 
each other for a momentJ] 

SCHWARTZE. 

It 's all right, — it 's all right. 

MAX, 

Uncle, I need not say that I take your place, 
that I meet any man you point out ; it is my 
right. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Yours, — why? In what capacity? Will you 
marry into a disgraced family? 

MAX. 

Uncle ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Are you prepared to strip off the uniform of 
our regiment ? Yes, I might set up a gambling- 
house, and you could play the stool-pigeon for 
a living. There is no knowing what we might 
do. What ! you, with your beautiful name, your 
noble name, propose this sacrifice, — and I to 
profit by it ! Ha, ha ! No, my boy ; even if you 
still were willing, I am not. This house and all 
within are marked for ruin. Go your way from 
it. With the name of Schwartze you have noth- 
ing more to do. 



Magda. 143 



MAX. 

Uncle, I demand that you — 

SCHWARTZE. 

Hush ! Not now ! [Motions to the door."] 
Soon I may need you as one needs a friend in 
such affairs, but not now — not now. First I 
must find the gentleman. He was not at home — 
the gentleman was not at home. But he shall 
not think he has escaped me. If he is out a 
second time, then, my son, your work begins. 
Until then, be patient, — be patient. 

Enter Theresa from halL 

THERESA. 

Councillor von Keller. [Schwartze starts .] 

MAX. 

He here ! How — 

SCHWARTZE. 

Let him come in. [Exit Theresa, 

max. 

Uncle ! [Points to himself in great excitement. 
Schwartze shakes his head, and signs to Max 
to leave the room. Enter Von Keller. Exit 
Max. They meet in the doorway. Von Keller 
greets Max courteously. Max restrains himself 
from insulting him.~\ 



144 



Magda. 



VON KELLER. 

Colonel, I am grieved at having missed you. 
When I returned from the Casino, where I am 
always to be found at noon, — where, I say, I 
am always to be found, — your card lay on the 
table ; and as I imagine that there are matters of 
importance to be discussed between us, I made 
haste — as I say, I have made haste — - 

SCHWARTZE. 

Councillor, I do not know whether in this 
house there should be a chair for you, but since 
you have come here so quickly, you must be 
tired. I beg you to be seated. 

VON KELLER. 

Thanks. [Sits down, near the open pistol- 
case, starts as he sees it, watches the Colonel ap- 
prehensively^ H'm ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

Now, have you nothing to say to me ? 

VON KELLER. 

Allow me first one question : Did your 
daughter, after our conversation, say anything 
to you about me ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

Councillor^ have you nothing to say to me ? 



Magda. 



MS 



VON KELLER. 

Oh, certainly, I have a great deal to say to 
you. I would gladly, for instance, express to 
you a wish, a request ; but I don't quite know 
whether — Won't you tell me, at least, has your 
daughter spoken of me at all favorably ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Angrily.'] I must know, sir, how we stand, 
in what light I am to treat you. 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, pardon me, now I understand — [ Work- 
ing himself up.] Colonel, you see in me a man who 
takes life earnestly. The days of a light youth — 
[Schwartze looks up angrily.] Pardon me, I 
meant to say — since early this morning a holier 
and, if I may say so, a more auspicious resolution 
has arisen within me. Colonel, I am not a man 
of many words. I have already wandered from 
the point. As one man of honor to another, or 

— in short, Colonel, I have the honor to ask you 
for the hand of your daughter. [Schwartze sits 
motionless, breathing heavily.] Pardon me, you 
do not answer — am I perhaps not worthy — 

SCHWARTZE. 

[ Groping for his hand.] No, no, no ; not that, 

— not that. I am an old man. These last hours 
have been a little too much for me. Don't mind 
me. 

10 



146 



Magda. 



VON KELLER. 

H'm, h'm ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Rising, and closing the lid of the pistol-case^ 
Give me your hand, my young friend. You 
have brought heavy sorrow upon me, — heavy 
sorrow. But you have promptly and bravely 
made it good. Give me the other hand. So, 
so ! And now do you wish to speak to her also ? 
You will have much to say. Eh ? 

VON KELLER. 

If I might be allowed. 

SCHWARTZE. 

\_Opens the hall-door and speaks off, then 
opens the door, left.~] Magda ! 

Enter Magda. 

magda. 
What is it, father? 

SCHWARTZE. 

Magda, this gentleman asks for the honor — 

\As he sees the two together, he looks with 
sudden anger from one to the other.~\ 

MAGDA. 

\ Anxiously] Father? 



Magda. 147 



SCHWARTZE. 

Now everything 's arranged. Don't make it 
too long ! [To Magda.] Yes, everything's all 
right now. [Exit 

VON KELLER. 

Ah, my dearest Magda, who could have sus- 
pected it? 

MAGDA. 

Then we are to be married. 

VON KELLER. 

Above all, I don't want you to entertain the 
idea that any design of mine has been at the 
bottom of this development which I welcome 
so gladly, which I — 

MAGDA. 

I have n't reproached you. 

VON KELLER. 

No, you have no reason. 

MAGDA. 

None whatever. 

VON KELLER. 

Let me further say to you that it has always 
been my strongest wish that Providence might 
bring us together again. 



148 



Magda. 



MAGDA. 

Then you have really never ceased to love 
me? 

VON KELLER. 

Well, as an honorable man and without exag- 
geration I can scarcely assert that. But since 
early this morning a holier and a more auspi- 
cious resolution has arisen within me — 

MAGDA. 

Pardon me, would this holy and auspicious 
resolution have arisen within you just the same 
if I had come back to my home in poverty and 
shame? 

VON KELLER. 

My dearest Magda, I am neither self- 
seeking nor a fortune-hunter, but I know what 
is due to myself and to my position. In other 
circumstances there would have been no so- 
cial possibility of making legitimate our old 
relations — 

MAGDA. 

I must consider myself, then, very happy in 
these ten long years to have worked up uncon- 
sciously towards such a high goal. 

VON KELLER. 

I don't know whether I am too sensitive, but 
that sounds almost like irony. And I hardly 
think that — 



Magda. 



149 



MAGDA. 

That it is fitting from me ? 

VON KELLER. 

[Deprecatingly.~\ Oh ! 

MAGDA. 

I must ask for your indulgence. The role of 
a patient and forbearing wife is new to me. 
Let us speak, then, of the future [sits ana 
motions to him to do the same\ — of our future. 
What is your idea of what is to come ? 

VON KELLER. 

You know, my dearest Magda, I have great 
designs. This provincial town is no field for 
my statesmanship. Besides, it is my duty now 
to find a place which will be worthy of your 
social talents. For you will give up the stage 
and concert-hall, — that goes without saying. 

MAGDA. 

Oh, that goes without saying? 

VON KELLER. 

Oh, I beseech you — you don't understand 
the conditions ; it would be a fatal handicap for 
me. I might as well leave the service at once. 

MAGDA. 

And if you did ? 



ISO 



Magda. 



VON KELLER. 

Oh, you can't be in earnest. For a hard- 
working and ambitious man who sees a brilliant 
future before him to give up honor and position, 
and as his wife's husband to play the vagabond, 
— to live merely as the husband of his wife ? 
Shall I turn over your music, or take the tickets 
at the box-office? No, my dearest friend, you 
underestimate me, and the position I fill in 
society. But don't be uneasy. You will have 
nothing to repent of. I have every respect for 
your past triumphs, but [pompously] the highest 
reward to which your feminine ambition can 
aspire will be achieved in the drawing-room. 

MAGDA. 

[Aside.] Good Heaven, this thing I 'm do- 
ing is mere madness ! 

VON KELLER. 

What do you say? [Magda shakes her 
head.] And then the wife, the ideal wife, of 
modern times is the consort, the true, self- 
sacrificing helper of her husband. For instance, 
you, by your queenly personality and by the 
magic of your voice, will overcome my enemies, 
and knit even my friends more closely to me. 
And we will be largely hospitable. Our house 
shall be the centre of the most distinguished 
society, who still keep to the severely gracious 
manners of our forefathers. Gracious and 
severe may seem contradictory terms, but they 
are not. 



Magda. 151 



MAGDA. 

You forget that the child on whose account 
this union is to be consummated will keep the 
severely inclined away from us. 

VON KELLER. 

Yes, I know, dear Magda, it will be painful 
for you ; but this child must of course remain 
the deepest secret between us. No one must 
suspect — 

MAGDA. 

[Astounded and incredulous^] What — what 
do you say? 

VON KELLER. 

Why, it would ruin us. No, no, it is absurd 
to think of it. But we can make a little 
journey every year to wherever it is being edu- 
cated. One can register under a false name ; 
that is not unusual in foreign parts, and is hardly 
criminal. And when we are fifty years old, and 
other regular conditions have been fulfilled, 
[laughing], that can be arranged, can't it ? 
Then we can, under some pretext, adopt it, can't 
we? 

MAGDA. 

[Breaks into a piercing laugh ; then, with 
clasped hands and staring eyes.] My sweet ! 
My little one ! Mio bambino / Mio povero 
— bam — you — you — I am to — ha, ha, ha ! 
[Tries to open the folding door.] Go ! go ! 



152 Magda. 



Enter Schwartze. 

SCHWARTZE. 

What — 

MAGDA. 

Good you 're here ! Free me from this man, 
take this man away from me. 

SCHWARTZE. 

What? 

MAGDA. 

I have done everything you demanded. I 
have humbled myself, I have surrendered my 
judgment, I have let myself be carried like a 
lamb to the slaughter. But my child I will not 
leave. Give up my child to save his career ! 
\Throws herself into a chair."] 

SCHWARTZE. 

Mr. von Keller, will you please — 

VON KELLER. 

I am inconsolable, Colonel. But it seems 
that the conditions which for the interest of 
both parties I had to propose, do not meet the 
approbation — 

SCHWARTZE. 

My daughter is no longer in the position to 
choose the conditions under which she — Dr. 
von Keller, I ask your pardon for the scene to 
which you have just been subjected. Wait for 
me at your home. I will myself bring you my 



Magda. 1 53 

daughter's consent. For that I pledge you 
my word of honor. [Sensation. Magda rises 
quickly.] 

VON KELLER. 

Have you considered what — 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Holding out his hand.] I thank you, Dr„ 
von Keller. 

VON KELLER. 

Not at all. I have only done my duty. 

[Exit, ivith a bow. 

MAGDA. 

[Stretching herself \] So ! Now I 'm the old 
Magda again. [Schwartze locks the three doors 
silently.] Do you think, father, that I shall 
become docile by being shut up? 

SCHWARTZE. 

So ! Now we are alone. No one sees us 
but He who sees us — there [pointing up- 
ward] Quiet yourself, my child. We must talk 
together. 

MAGDA. 

[Sits down.] Good ! We can come to an 
understanding, then, — my home and I. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Do you see that I am now quite calm ? 

MAGDA. 

Certainly. 



154 Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

Quite calm, am I not ? Even my arm does 
not tremble. What has happened, has hap- 
pened. But just now I gave your betrothed — 

MAGDA. 

My betrothed ? — Father dear ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

I gave your betrothed my word of honor. 
And that must be kept, don't you see? 

MAGDA. 

But if it is not in your power, my dear 
father. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Then I must die, — then I must simply die. 
One cannot live on when one - — You are an 
officer's daughter. Don't you understand that? 

MAGDA. 

[Compassionately. .] My God ! 

SCHWARTZE. 

But before I die, I must set my home in 
order, must I not? Every one has something 
which he holds sacred. What is sacred to your 
inmost soul? 

MAGDA. 

My art. 



Magda. 155 



SCHWARTZE. 

No, that is not enough. It must be more 
sacred. 

MAGDA. 

My child. 

SCHWARTZE. 

Good ! Your child, — your child, — you love 
it ? [Magda nods.~\ You wish to see it again ? 
[She nods.'] And — yes — if you made an 
oath upon its head [makes a motion as if he 
laid his hand upon a child ] s head], then you 
would not perjure yourself? [Magda shakes 
her head, smiling.] That's well. [Rising.] 
Either you swear to me now, as upon his head, 
that you will become the honorable wife of his 
father, or — neither of us two shall go out of 
this room alive. [Sinks back on the seat.] 

MAGDA. 

[After a short silence.] My poor, dear 
papa ! Why do you torture yourself so ? 
And do you think that I will let myself be 
constrained by locked doors? You cannot 
believe it. 

SCHWARTZE. 

You will see. 

MAGDA. 

[In growing excitement.] And what do you 
really want of me? Why do you trouble your- 
self about me ? I had almost said, what have 
you all to do with me ? 



i S 6 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

That you will see. 

MAGDA. 

You blame me for living out my life without 
asking you and the whole family for permission. 
And why should I not? Was I not without 
family? Did you not send me out into the 
world to earn my bread, and then disown me 
because the way in which I earned it was not 
to your taste? Whom did I harm? Against 
whom did I sin? Oh, if I had remained the 
daughter of the house, like Marie, who is noth- 
ing and does nothing without the sheltering 
roof of the home, who passes straight from 
the arms of her father into the arms of her 
husband ; who receives from the family life, 
thought, character, everything, — yes, then you 
would have been right. In such a one the 
slightest error would have ruined everything, — 
conscience, honor, self-respect. But I? Look 
at me. I was alone. I was as shelterless as 
a man knocked about in the world, dependent 
on the work of my own hands. If you give 
us the right to hunger — and 1 have hungered 
— why do you deny us the right to love, as 
we can find it, and to happiness, as we can 
understand it? 

SCHWARTZE. 

You think, my child, because you are free 
and a great artist, that you can set at naught — 



Magda. 



«57 



MAGDA. 

Leave art out of the question. Consider me 
nothing more than the seamstress or the 
servant-maid who seeks, among strangers, the 
little food and the little love she needs. See 
how much the family with its morality demand 
from us ! It throws us on our own resources, 
it gives us neither shelter nor happiness, and 
yet, in our loneliness, we must live according 
to the laws which it has planned for itself alone. 
We must still crouch in the corner, and there 
wait patiently until a respectful wooer happens 
to come. Yes, wait. And meanwhile the war 
for existence of body and soul is consuming us. 
Ahead we see nothing but sorrow and despair, 
and yet shall we not once dare to give what 
we have of youth and strength to the man for 
whom our whole being cries ? Gag us, stupefy 
us, shut us up in harems or in cloisters — and 
that perhaps would be best. But if you give 
us our freedom, do not wonder if we take 
advantage of it. 

SCHWARTZE. 

There, there ! That is the spirit of rebellion 
abroad in the world. My child — my dear 
child — tell me that you were not in earnest — 
that you — that you — pity me — if — [Look- 
ing for the pistol- c as e\ . I don't know what may 
happen — child — have pity on me ! 



MAGDA. 

Father, father, be calm, I cannot bear that. 



Magda. 



SCHWARTZE. 

I will not do it — I cannot do it — [Look- 
ing still for the pistol-case .] Take it from me ! 
Take it from me ! 

MAGDA. 

What, father? 

SCHWARTZE. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. I ask you for 
the last time. 

MAGDA. 

Then you persist in it? 

SCHWARTZE. 

My child, I warn you. You know I cannot 
do otherwise. 

MAGDA. 

Yes, father, you leave me no other way. Well, 
then, are you sure that you ought to force 
me upon this man — [Schwartze listens^ that, 
according to your standards, I am altogether 
worthy of him? [Hesitating, looking into 
space.~\ I mean — that he was the only one in 
my life ? 

SCHWARTZE. 

[Feels for the pistol-case and takes the pistol 
out.~\ You jade ! [He advances upon her, try- 
ing to raise the weapon. At the same moment 
he falls back on the seat, where he remains mo- 
tionless, with staring eyes, the pistol grasped in 
his hand, which hangs down by his side.^ 



Magda. 



*59 



MAGDA. 

\_With a loud cry.] Father! [She flies 
toward the stove for shelter from the weapon, 
then takes a few steps, with her hands before her 
face.] Father ! [She sinks, with her knees in 
a chair, her face on the back. Calling and 
knocking outside. The door is broken open.] 
Enter Max, Marie, Heffterdingt, and Mrs. 
Schwartze. 

mrs, schwartze. 

Leopold, what's the matter? Leopold ! [To 
the Pastor.] O my God, he 's as he used to be ! 

MARIE. 

Papa dear ! Speak, one word ! [Throws 
herself down at his right. ,] 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

Get the doctor, Max. 

MAX. 

Is it a stroke ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

I think so. [Exit Max. Aside to Magda.] 
Come to him. [As she hesitates^] Come \ it 
is the end. [Leads her trembling to Schwartze's 
chair.] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

[ Who has tried to take the pistol.'] Let it 
go, Leopold; what do you want with it? See, 
he 's holding the pistol and won't let it go. 



i6o 



Magda. 



HEFFTERDINGT. 

[Aside."] It is the convulsion. He cannot. 
My dear old friend, can you understand what 
I 'm saying to you? [Schwartze bows his head 
a little. Magda sinks' down at his left.~] God, 
the All-Merciful One, has called you from on 
high. You are not her judge. Have you no 
sign of forgiveness for her ? [Schwartze shakes 
his head slowly. ~\ 

MARIE. 

[Sinking down by Magda.] Papa, give her 
your blessing, dear papa ! [A smile transfig- 
ures his face. The pistol escapes from his hand. 
He raises his hand slowly to place it on Marie's 
head. In the midst of this motion a spasm goes 
through his body. His ai-m falls back, his head 
sinks] 

MRS. SCHWARTZE. 

[Crying out.] Leopold ! 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

[Taking her hand.~] He has gone home. 
[He folds his hands. Silent prayer, broken by 
the sobbing of the women.] 

MAGDA. 

[Springing up and spreading out her arms in 
agony.] Oh, if I had only never come ! [Heff- 
terdingt makes a motion to beg her silence. 
She misunderstands.] Are you going to drive 



Magda. 1 6 1 

me away? His life was the cost of my coming. 
May I not stay now ? 

HEFFTERDINGT. 

\_Simply and peacefully ?\ No one will hinder 
you from praying upon his grave. 



\Curtain falls slowly .] 



THE END. 



